Stormy Night
by Viva Islenska
Summary: Bruce is out of town on business and his three eldest patrol Gotham in his stead. Tim is assigned a simple recon mission but it goes awry when he springs a trap designed for him. Nightwing and Red Hood attempt to work together to save him. Despite their differences, they may realize that there isn't anything they wouldn't do for one another. T for swearing. H/C, Batfam, Hurt!Dick.
1. Chapter 1

The night was a stormy one in Gotham City. An early autumn Nor-Easter had blown in and had brought high winds, lashing rain and violent thunderstorms. Bruce Wayne had been called away on business with Wayne Tech, but his three oldest sons patrolled the streets this night.

Red Robin, the youngest and most inexperienced of the three, had been assigned a simple, low key reconnaissance mission while Nightwing looked for leads on a new case and Red Hood patrolled the territory of drug traffickers at the docks.

Red Robin made his way silently to one of the oldest abandoned office buildings in the city, so that he could listen in on the business of a crime family who had recently arrived in Gotham and had only just begun to sow their seeds in the devious underworld. Batman was not yet sure what the family's main objective was, but he had been picking up a lot of chatter between the newcomers and Gotham's veteran criminal elite. In addition, several members of the gang had been getting themselves arrested for petty crimes. But why? It was up to Red Robin this night to start surveillance and chip away at the mystery.

Red Robin ran through lashing rain as he leapt from one building to the next, closing in on the old Bank of Gotham tower that loomed ahead of him in Gotham's historical district. He noticed that with each aerial maneuver he had to compensate for the gusts of wind that howled in and around the alleyways and rooftops. A bolt of lightning ripped through the black and purple sky and thunder boomed in quick succession- an indication that the thunderhead was very close. Idly he wondered how Jason was faring in this weather as he knew that first hand that the older man had a strong dislike for thunder. And who could blame him after all he had been through? **

As if on cue, the comm link in his ear chirped.

"Hood to Red," said the mischievous voice of Jason Todd. As usual, it sounded like he had a cigarette in his mouth. He was also barely audible over the sound of the downpour and rumble of thunder from above.

"Go ahead," yelled Red Robin as he launched over an especially wide alleyway and felt the wind take his cape and twist and flip it over his head.

"How's the recon coming?" asked the Red Hood.

Tim smiled, Jason had come such a long way from trying to kill his 'replacement.' The past few months had seen the two heroes become thick as thieves. Which Jason, even though he denied it because he only stole from criminals, actually was. Even so, Tim was grateful for the colorful re-addition to the family. He even felt safer when he knew that the dreaded Red Hood was on the prowl and had his back.

"Not in position yet but I will be in a few minutes. I'm about two clicks out," replied Red Robin firing his grappling gun.

"Sounds," began Jason before taking a huge drag. "Invigorating," he commented dryly and exhaled a plume of smoke.

"Ha… this night would be if Batman trusted me with more important missions while he's out of town," said Red Robin.

"Well," said Jason, his message becoming more distorted. "At least this shitty weather is a good proving ground for you. I can barely hear you! And this rain soaked all my fucking cigarettes."

"It's a sign from above that you should quit," said Tim smirking. "Have you heard from 'Wing?"

"What do you think?" asked Jason sounding annoyed. He pulled a small flask out of his brown leather jacket and took a quick gulp of whiskey.

Tim could hear the sound of him swallowing, a satisfied "Ahhh," and then him screwing the cap back on the bottle.

"Hood… are you drinking on the job again?" asked Tim stopping momentarily to hone in on his target with the NVG lenses on his domino mask.

"Oh don't get your feathers in twist, Red. You know how the saying goes: When the Bat is away, Red Hood gets to drink all his top-shelf good shit," he replied in a sinister mockery of cheer.

"Said no one ever" mumbled Red Robin. He still had to admit to himself that he got a kick out of it. All that booze and Jason Todd still had the steadiest hands in the world with a pair of any firearm.

"Well I'm freezing my balls off," the Red Hood complained. "It's fucking cold! The whiskey helps."

"Buy a warmer jacket," stated Tim blandly. "And by the way, you gotta start cutting 'Wing some slack, bro," he added, almost shouting about the noise of the storm. "He lived and worked alone with Bats for years. He's happy to finally have us to talk to."

"I'll direct his comms to you then," said Jason peeved. "You'd be swigging booze too if he always called you first."

"He's missed you!" reasoned Tim.

"Yeah yeah, I know," admitted Jason grudgingly, disgruntled by the tenderness of the notion.

"Just tell him he can call me! Listen, Hood, I gotta go. I've reached the old Bank of Gotham and, besides, I can barely hear you!" said Red Robin.

"Same here. Careful over there, Red," said Jason.

"Psh. Save your warnings for when I get assigned something perilous," said Tim to his older brother as he scaled the final building standing in his way of the target edifice.

"All in good time, Baby Bird! All in good time!" said Red Hood as a means of signing off.

* * *

**This is an allusion to an incredible fic called 'Thunder and Trauma' by the talented R.S. Donovan. If you like Jason and Tim stories, you should check it out! If they aren't your favorite... definitely check it out all the same hehe.

To be continued!


	2. Chapter 2

As simple as it was supposed to be, Tim could not help but feel slightly apprehensive about his mission. His exchange with Jason had been barely discernible from the static and background noise and the storm was only worsening. He felt a wave of a strange emotion that he could not quite put his finger on, but at least he was almost to where he needed to be. All he had to do now was sneak in, set up some equipment and hang out for a few hours before returning home to the cave to compile a report for Batman.

Avoiding his cape, which was violently being whipped around his body by the wind and rain, Red Robin reached up and shot his grappling gun across the final alley way to the 36th floor of the old building. He soared through the air, suctioned himself to the window pane and silently severed a hole in the glass just large enough for him to squeeze through. He breached the opening, relieved to be out of the terrible storm but ready to get to work.

But something was terribly wrong.

As soon as he landed lightly on the dusty old floor, the muzzle of an M-4 was pressed firmly against the side of his head.

"So good of you to finally join us," said the deep menacing voice of the man holding the gun.

Red Robin froze momentarily, analyzing his options, and then reached calmly for his bo staff.

"Ah ah ah," warned the adversary. "I would not do such if I were you."

Red Robin slowly lowered his hand and cursed himself inwardly. The man had been waiting for him it seemed. His voice was deeply flavored with the accents of Eastern Europe. A hundred dialects of several different languages scrolled through Tim's mind like a catalogue.

"There's a good lad," he sneered. "We have been expecting you. Come now with me. Stand up and your hands, put behind your head," the man instructed. English clearly was not his first language. He took one step back to allow his captive to stand up to his full height to walk and be prodded along.

Immediately, Tim took advantage of this opportunity and with lightening speed, grabbed his bo staff, hit the man's rifle out of his hand then gave him a swift rap on the side of his head to knock him out. The man fell heavily to the floor, landing next to his weapon. But Tim knew that his presence here was comprised and he needed to leave. He spun and made to exit the way he came, but realized that two more soldiers had appeared to block his escape.

"Escape will be impossible, runt," sneered the man on the left in the same accent. "Drop your weapon and come with us. Or get a bullet in each knee cap. Your choice."

Tim stole a glance up into the rafters and realized there were even more men surrounding him from up high, each with a good vantage point. He would have make his escape a different way.

He threw his staff down at the feet of the two gunmen in front of him, but then threw a smoke bomb with it too. As the two men were engulfed in plumes of caustic red smoke, he bolted further into the room and made a zig-zag pattern to the doorway dodging bullets from above as he ran.

The doorway led to a large dank hallway that opened into a larger make-shift atrium that utilized about seven floors of the old office building. Before he could leap down into the opening, he was surrounded by ten more thugs, the closest of whom were wielding knives and viciously slashing at him. Able to dodge each attack and send four men flying through a hole in the flooring to the level below, he reached to his grappling gun and shot a line across to the other side of the atrium and launched himself to the doorway on the other side.

But a soldier jumped onto his back and severed his line, sending both hero and criminal falling to the ground below. Red Robin elbowed the thug in the face and, once free of the extra weight, opened his feathered cape to slow his descent. He glided for a few seconds before another thug launched himself off of a lower level at him. This time, Tim had no time to free himself from this new man's grasp as yet another man launched himself into the pair. The two thugs and the young hero fell and landed bodily on the ground in a heap.

Tim had realized that his fall was going to be a nasty one and that he might just be in over his head tonight. So just before impact, he was able to reach down to his belt and activate his emergency beacon.

The dim yellow light on his belt remained blinking as he smacked into the dusty old floor and his head swam in pain and disorientation. The two gang members that had foiled his landing, came crashing down on top of him.

As Tim lay sprawled on the ground groaning and struggling to move, several gangsters emerged from the shadows and approached the limp form of the young hero. Stepping over and on the bodies of their fallen comrades, they roughly seized Red Robin and stripped him of his weapons.

One thug reached down to remove his mask, bet was rewarded with an electric shock.

"Ow!" howled the man. "The whelp's mask is boobytrapped!"

"It doesn't matter who he is," said another soldier. "Only what he has to say."

"You will want to use caution," warned an lieutenant in their native tongue. "Be sure to remove all of his weapons and gear."

"He's just a baby," answered a soldier in a complaining tone. "How much harm could he-"

 _Bang_.

The complaining soldier's body fell to the ground as a bullet hole in his head smoked and began to weep blood. The other men did not so much as flinch and ignored the ghastly sight as they continued with their task.

"Bring him down to Gavrilo," instructed the lieutenant, holstering his handgun. "Now."

A bound and dazed Red Robin was hoisted onto the shoulders of a large soldier and carried away to the boss waiting below. Luckily, his homing beacon still blinked dimly but steadily in the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the lashing rain, the soggy cigarettes and the constant cacophony of the thunder above, the Red Hood was having a decent night swabbing up the drug-trafficking scum that worked nights at the Gotham Docks. He was just putting the finishing touches on binding the dozen drug traffickers he had incapacitated and apprehended. He was zip-tying them as uncomfortably as possible together under a mooring locker's overhang when one of the thugs began complaining loudly.

"You shot my leg, you asshole!" the man moaned pathetically. "I thought you guys didn't use guns!"

Jason zipped the last bind together and stood up glancing at his captives. "Oh! I forgot!" he said with mock-surprise. "You're right! _We_ don't use guns! How silly of me!"

He drew a pistol from one of his four holsters and fired another round a millimeter away from the complaining thug's foot, singing the edge of the man's shoe. The criminals cried out in a pitiful chorus of fear.

"But I'm special," he said darkly. "Now shut the fuck up before I give you a taste of what you actually deserve."

The cries of fear morphed into contained whimpering and silence as Jason continued to search them over. He peered down into the breast pocket of one of the unconscious men and saw the distinct small white cardboard box.

"Hellooo beautiful," he said delightfully as he plucked the box out with gloved fingers and relieved the thug of his cigarettes.

He lifted the corner of his red mask just enough to plant one between his parted lips, and as he lit it his comm link chirped.

"What?" he said through the side of his mouth as a means of a greeting to whoever had paged him. He took a few puffs in quick succession attempting to kindle an adequate light.

"Hood, it's Nightwing," said the voice of his irritating gymnast of an older brother.

Jason rolled his eyes and let his attention wander back to the group of beaten criminals sitting a few feet away.

"Hardly fucking surprised, 'Wing," he began. "What do you want, pretty boy?"

The men behind him were whispering and grumbling to each other in hushed, scared voices.

"I thought the Bat's boys were nicer," said one of them.

"Yeah but the Red Hood is different. I heard he died once and now he's a violent son of a bitch," answered another.

"And psychotic," called Jason over his shoulder. "Don't forget psychotic. And what is this low-tar bullshit?" he added, brandishing the cigarette over his head.

"Hood, listen to me!" Nightwing urged.

"Yeah yeah. I'm listening," said Jason grudgingly returning his full attention back to Dick's transmission and taking another drag. "Say again."

"Look at your emergency net," said Nightwing pressingly. "Red activated his beacon."

Jason frowned and took out the small GPS from one of his pockets. Sure enough, Tim's Red Robin symbol was blinking across the screen and the location of the signal was magnified.

"Fuck," declared Jason.

"I know," replied Dick. "Are you available? How close are you to his signal?"

"As it happens," said Jason taking one last drag. "I am," he proclaimed, flicking the still-lit cigarette into the middle of the pile of criminals and smirking as he watched them squirm away from the burning hot object. "I can be there in twenty. You?" Jason decided he wouldn't be waiting for the cops to come and collect the garbage he had bagged for them. He made his way to where he had hidden his motorcycle out of the rain.

"I can be there in about thirty," responded Dick. "I think- rendezvous-and-."

Static filled the line of communication.

"Say again," said Red Hood loudly as he situated himself on his bike.

No response.

"Red Hood to Nightwing, say again," he said more loudly this time, annunciating each syllable. But the storm had only worsened in the past few hours since the three heroes had embarked on their respective missions.

A mushy hiss came over the radio and Red Hood could hear Dick's voice again.

"I said, we need to get to Red ASAP. We should- arrives first- and-

"-"

Comms were lost again. But Jason feared that Tim was losing precious time.

"'Wing, are you there? 'Wing?" he tried one more time.

More static and then "extract-" and then the comms were dead for good.

"Whatever," said Red Hood. "Comms are shit but if you can hear me, I'm on my way to Red and I will see you there! Hood out!"

With that, Jason turned the key to his bike, revved it and sped off at full speed to Red Robin's location.

 _Hang in there Tim,_ he thought as he approached and easily surpassed 100 mph despite the wet, slippery conditions. He whizzed through cars, red lights and the lashing rain. _We're coming, Baby Bird._


	4. Chapter 4

Meanwhile at the old Bank of Gotham building.

Five soldiers dumped their captive, Red Robin, into a metal chair to be brought before the crime family's boss. They had bound him tightly, each leg to a front leg of the chair, his chest to the backrest and his hands behind him.

Still badly dazed from his fight against the twenty-odd gang members and his fall to the atrium floor, Tim struggled futilely against his bonds. There was a rude pounding in his skull and he felt dizzy and tired as he tried to take in his surroundings. There were people surrounding him, he surmised, but he couldn't quite make them out.

A man approached him to test the strength of each of his bonds. Satisfied, he looked to the boss, and gave him a ponderous nod. Then boss then gave his soldiers the signal to bring the young hero out of his daze. Another criminal approached with Tim with potent smelling salts, held them under the hero's nostrils and then gave Red Robin a sharp slap across his face. And then again.

Tim took the stinging blows with dignity but the skin of his face was reddening and smarting as he realized where he was and remembered what had happened. He blinked up into the light and the large frame of the shape of the mob boss seated above him on a podium.

"Where-" he noticed that his voice is hoarse so he cleared his throat and increased his volume so as not to show meekness or fear. "Where am I?" he asked.

"You have the honor to be in the presence of His Radiance, Gavrilo, and that question is the only one you will be granted," said one of the gangsters. The eagerness of the solider's tone was notable. It was clear that these men exulted the man whom they served.

The boss, Gavrilo, was a gaunt, middle-aged, flaxen-haired man, and his expression held none of the eagerness or exultation that those of his men did. He held out a hand for silence and then stood up out of his own chair, descended from his podium and began to circle the captive.

"You came here for secrets, little hero," said Gavrilo, oddly in a voice that was soft, quiet, almost inaudible and bearing no trace of the accent of his soldiers. Red Robin had to strain to hear it. The boss continued his circling and his soliloquy. "But it is secrets that we seek from you."

Gavrilo climbed his dais, took his seat again and steepled his hands underneath his chin. His pale eyes bored into Tim's masked ones, impassively. "You are the protégé to the one they call the Batman, are you not? We know you have many secrets indeed."

Three men approached Tim, each stopping at arm's length away from where he was bound. He strained against his binds, testing them. They were tight and expertly made. And all of his gear and weapons had been taken from him.

"Your task is simple," continued Gavrilo in his soft, deadpan voice. "I will ask you a question and you will answer truthfully and to the best of your knowledge."

Tim glared defiantly at the boss, mentally preparing himself to not give away any information that would harm anyone. Especially those he held dear.

"Who is the Batman?" said Gavrilo.

"The Greatest Detective in the World," responded Tim. "The Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight of Gotham. And when he finds out what you and your gang are up to, he _will_ bring you to justice."

 _Whack._

One of the three gangsters smacked Tim brutally across the face with a gloved fist. Tim's jaw pulsed in pain and he couldn't help but wince slightly.

"No games," said the boss sounding tired and bored. "You knew what I meant so I will ask again. Give me the name of the man who wears the mantle of the Bat."

Tim glared defiantly and said nothing.

 _Thud_ came the fist again to his face.

 _Whack_ came another fist in quick succession from a different direction.

Tim's mind reeled. He groaned in pain, spit out a wad of blood and turned his gaze back to Gavrilo.

"Who funds the exploits of the Batman?"

When Tim had no answer, the three thugs each struck him in quick succession in the rib cage, knocking the wind out of him and causing him more immense pain.

The criminals were experts with this business and interrogated their captive like a well-oiled machine. Tim realized that he wasn't going to last long against their blows and knew that he needed to either find a way to escape, or be rescued by his brothers before the thugs resorted to more invasive methods of eliciting answers from him. Either way, he resolved to die before disclosing any information.

After a few more minutes of questions and beating, Tim found himself panting in pain and struggling to keep the dark spots dancing in front of his vision at bay.

"What is the location of the Batman's base of operation?"

No response from Red Robin.

 _Thwack._

"Does the Batman use safe houses around the city?"

No response from Red Robin.

 _Thwack thwack._

Tim was struck with an uppercut so forceful that for a moment he thought it was going to tear him clean out of his binds. But that would be to good to be true. As he recovered his composure again and readied himself for the next set of questions and subsequent blows, a newcomer to the chamber spoke up and made himself known.

"You're wasting your time," called a clear, confident voice from somewhere in the rafters. "He's been trained by the best."

Tim's heart leapt in his chest. His ears were ringing from all the blows he had taken but he would recognize that voice anywhere and under any circumstance. He knew his brothers would come to his aid!

The group of thugs, including their boss glanced angrily to the ruins of the ceiling above.

"How did he get past our perimeter!" shouted a thug reaching into his holster for his weapon and pointing a handgun toward the direction of where he'd heard the vigilante's voice.

"Who cares! Get him!" responded another gangster doing the same.

"Like I said, he was trained by the best. And so was I," said Nightwing as he leapt off from where he had been perched and into the fray, taking out ten thugs before Tim could even blink.

Nightwing looked to the chair where Tim was tied up and in a matter of seconds was running toward him, flipping and dodging bullets and knives and fists as he made his way to Red Robin.

"Brace yourself, Red!" called Nightwing to his brother as he threw a charge at the floor beneath Tim's chair. Upon impact, a the charge exploded and Nightwing dove at Tim, forcing the two heroes through the open hole in the floor to the level below.

Nightwing wrapped his arms protectively around Red Robin as the two collided on the ground below, and Nightwing took the impact. He leapt up, tossed a smoke bomb up into the open ceiling for more cover, and deftly sliced away the binds that tied Red Robin to the metal chair. He flung the chair up into the plume of coverage smoke. A _clang_ could be heard as the chair connected with a face, eliciting several shouts of pain from the gangsters. Dick reached down to pull Tim gingerly to his feet.

"Are you aright?" he said looking worriedly into Tim's eyes and giving him a searching look. Tim's face was battered and bleeding and the swelling had just begun. He reached down and wiped away a stream of blood that was flowing out of the younger hero's nose. "No time for a throughout exam I'm afraid. Your ribs ok? Hows the head?"

"Fine," said Tim breathlessly and wincing through inflamed cheek bones. "But that was my second fall of the night."

Dick frowned. "I'm so sorry, bro. How dizzy are you? Can you walk?"

"It's not too bad and I think so," said Tim staggering to get his footing. Dick reached out a strong arm to steady him. He grabbed one of Tim's arms and draped it over his shoulders, taking his younger brother's weight, and then guided him toward an exit. The two heroes made for a door that would take them to a room on the outer perimeter of the building where they could escape through a window and grapple to safety.

But gangsters that Dick hadn't seen on his infrared scan of the building appeared from every direction and the two heroes soon found themselves cornered.

Dick noticed a weak spot in one of the buildings old partitions and Spartan kicked a large hole in it and guided Tim through it to another room.

"Short cut," he declared enthusiastically, trying to keep his younger brother's spirits high.

However, the room that they breached was also infested with gangsters. Some of which held guns and open fired on the pair before they could find another way out. Alone, Dick would be able to dodge each and every bullet, but supporting and guiding Tim's weight was a different matter entirely.

Tim knew this and he groaned in despair as he watched Dick take a protective step in front of him and shoot his grapple gun into the ceiling. But the extra weight on Dick's cable slowed their ascent and the sound the bullet made as it entered Dick's left thigh was enough to make Tim want to cry.

Dick barely even noticed the bullet, as he was so focused on getting his little brother to safety. "Just a knick," he said to Tim encouragingly. "I know another way out!"

But Nightwing's last known clear path of escape was longer clear. As he approached the large window that he was going to use for his and Tim's exit, twenty armed men flooded the room and trained all of their weapons on the two vigilantes.


	5. Chapter 5

Dick froze and clutched at Tim before the younger hero lost his footing with the abrupt maneuver. Tim was woozy, barely standing and losing consciousness but he had faith in Dick.

The older hero went over every possible scenario in his head. All of which involved getting his younger brother out of this God-forsaken, gang-infested, crummy, old building.

Suddenly, the line of thugs parted down the middle and Gavrilo stepped out from amongst the ranks blocking the door. Dick and Tim were trapped between a platoon of armed criminals and their mysterious leader, and thirty feet of open space leading to large window .

"A decent chase," said Gavrilo clapping slowly. "But now you have no where to go. Come quietly to me now and there will be no more bullet wounds tonight."

 _Lie,_ thought Dick thinking about the painful hole in his left thigh that was now bleeding freely. He had no trust for this foreign gang, their ability to multiply out of thin air and their creepily soft-spoken overlord. But what could he do to get Tim out of this mess? He didn't care if he had to stick around and deal with these assholes for a while on his own, but Tim was in no condition to stay here any longer. He glanced down to his brother and then out of the window to the cold stormy night.

And then he saw a light down on the street below… was that? _Yes_. That was unmistakably the headlight of Jason Todd's sport bike flying down the road and nearing the base of the building. Lightning tore the sky in half directly above Old Gotham and, for just a moment, it illuminated the street below and shone on the smooth red helmet and broad frame of the bike's lone rider.

 _Bingo_.

"I'm really sorry about this, Red," he whispered, suddenly absolutely sure about what he needed to do to extract Tim from the situation and get him to safety.

Tim looked up at his brother in dire, head-wound induced confusion. This worried Dick even more and strengthened his resolve. Tim was the smartest person that Dick had ever met. If Tim was confused, Tim was injured.

"Stay right where you are," instructed Nightwing, releasing his iron grip on Red Robin and praying that the younger hero could stay standing for just a few more seconds. To Nightwing's extreme relief, he did. "Everything is going to be fine. Trust me." He then turned with his hands raised in abdication and addressed the gang leader.

"I surrender..." he said amiably to Gavrilo, flashing the mob boss a perfect and charismatic smile.

Tim still had no clue what the hell Nightwing had planned. Then suddenly… quicker than the lightning outside…

"...But _he_ doesn't!" cried Nightwing defiantly, giving Tim a swift donkey kick in the chest and knocking the younger hero backwards toward the window.

Tim grunted as Dick's boot connected solidly with his badly bruised chest and sent him flying... toward the window... which would lead out of the building... which would remove him from the dangers of remaining here with Nightwing. His injured head struggled to make sense of what was going on, but finally he realized...

"'Wing!" cried Red Robin, finally aware of what the elder had planned. Dick was going to get him out of here, but be forced to remain a captive in his stead. He watched in slow motion as Nightwing unhooked a small charge from his belt. "'Wing! No!"

Nightwing tossed the charge between himself and Red Robin.

The concussive blast sent Red Robin skidding across the few feet remaining between himself and the window, then through the large window and out into the stormy night. But it threw Nightwing right into the open arms of their eager enemies.

"Nooooo!" screamed Tim until his voice was lost to the high winds and the sound of shattering glass. The last thing he remembered seeing was his own brother being launched into the arms of the enemy. He could feel the cold air and the rain of the storm outside and he was falling… falling… falling…

"So valiant," said Gavrilo surprised at what he had just witnessed. "And so foolish."

Six of his guards had untangled themselves from the hero who had just came flying into their ranks. Nightwing was dazed by the explosion but a surge of adrenaline had his practiced arms reaching back and unsheathing his escrima sticks while the soldiers were still figuring out what had just occurred.

Dick landed several hits and ducked several more. He subdued about a dozen of the thugs until the injury from his thigh caused him to stumble and one of the adversaries landed a lucky hit to his head. When Dick was momentarily dazed, another thug took the opportunity to seize Nightwing's right arm and twist is cruelly behind him until he dropped his escrima stick. Then another thug did the same to his other arm until the hero was finally disarmed. Even then, Dick would not give up. He lashed out with the leg he'd been shot in, ignoring the pain of the bullet still lodged inside his thigh, and landing a solid kick into a criminal's face. He was winding up for another kick with his uninjured leg, when two criminals grabbed it, and one of them kicked him in his bleeding bullet would.

When the thug's boot connected with the bullet wound, Dick saw stars and, for a moment, down was up and up was down and there was nothing but blinding pain as they held the dazed warrior by his upper arms and dropped in to his knees. Another reached down, grabbed a fistful of black hair and yanked Dick's head upward so that he was looking into the eyes of the men who he had given himself to willingly.

"We've got you now," sneered a thug and hit Dick in the temple with the butt of his rifle. The impact of the gun sent Dick's skull reeling in pain.

Still, he struggled against his captors valiantly. More thugs filed into the room to replace the soldiers who had fallen to Dick's combative skills. Five men had the injured hero in their grasp, but it still wasn't enough. Dick ducked his head forward and suddenly threw it backward and head butted one of the men pinning his arms, knocking him to floor clutching a bloody nose.

But two more men quickly replaced the fallen one and when one of them recaptured Dick's arm, another kicked a heavy, booted heel into the back of it. Dick roared out in pain as he heard his arm break and felt the white hot searing agony that followed. His world began to spin.

The criminals jumped at this chance again to subdue Nightwing. Another man stepped forward with a rifle, upended it and hit Dick in the temple even harder than before.

This time, Nightwing went limp in his captor's clutches.

* * *

Faster and faster Jason urged his bike toward the archaic Bank of Gotham edifice in oldest part of the city.

 _Made it in under twenty,_ he thought to himself, wondering vaguely how far away Nightwing might be before worrying about how Red was faring.

He was approaching the base of the building when he saw a fiery explosion from about twenty stories above.

" _What_ the _fuck_?" he said aloud, staring up at the explosion in surprise and disbelief.

Watching it, he saw a figure thrown clear of the building, his red feathered cape streaming upward in the wind as gravity pulled the listless human shape down to the unforgiving pavement below.

"Red!" screamed Jason leaping off of his bike and leaving it to run into the gutter.

He leapt up the nearest fire escape and shot several lines and a bungee to the falling hero. He held on tight as the bungee wrapped safely around the hero and did its job, effectively stopping the younger hero's fall and allowing Red Hood to lower him safely to the ground. The strain on Jason's shoulders was nothing compared to the fact that he had just saved Tim from a fatal collision with the street.

Jason wasted no time in sliding down the metal rungs and leaping to the side of his younger brother and taking a knee next to him.

"Red! Red!" can you hear me. "I've got you, you're ok! Red!?"

Tim gave a groan in response and Jason blew a sigh of immense relief.

"Holy shit, Baby Bird," he said breathlessly trying to assess the extent of his brother's injuries. "That was some exit!" Jason's relief was soon swallowed by worry as he noticed how badly beaten Tim's face appeared, and how it hurt him to draw breath and move.

Tim groaned again and glanced up, bewildered, at Red Hood.

Jason removed his helmet and set it aside. "Tim, it's me Jason. I've got you. How badly are you hurt?"

Tim's head was spinning and he couldn't make out the figure above him. A flash of lightning slashed through the pouring rain and he saw Jason Todd's deeply scarred face and a strip of silvery hair that stood out amongst a head of thick black hair that, right now, was as wet and messy as his own. He tried to speak but coughed and winced instead, clutching at his battered ribcage.

"Jay," he was finally able to mumble painfully. "'Wing… he's…" the rest of his sentence was lost in a wave of pain.

"He's on his way, but I'll cancel your beacon and leave him a digital indication that I've got you. He'll see it when he arrives and meet us at the Cave," explained Jason shrugging out of his brown leather jacket and wrapping it around Tim's shoulders. "You're hurt badly, Baby Bird. I'm taking you home. Dick's almost half as smart as you, so he'll figure it out."

"Jay…" Tim tried to protest. "Please, no… Dick…" he eyes blinked tiredly, one of them almost swollen shut.

Jason frowned. He needed to get Tim back to the cave immediately. "We're not waiting for him, he'll figure it out. Underneath that perfect hair he has a brain... I think. He won't be here for another ten minutes, but by the looks of it, I needed to get you home yesterday."

Tim shook his head in disagreement. "Jay..."

"I only have my bike, Baby Bird, I'm gonna give you something to make the ride more comfortable." Jason rummaged through the pocket of his jacket he used for first aid supplies and found a syringe with a sedative in it. "Just relax. We should leave now in case you have tail."

Jason rolled up one of Red Robin's sleeves and emptied the contents of the syringe into Tim's vein at his elbow.

Tim groaned. "Jay… we… _Dick_ …" Then he passed out, his head lolling to the side.

Jason deftly lifted his unconscious little brother up off of the pavement, and walked carefully with him over to his bike. He propped his bike up with one hand, and then placed his red helmet securely on Tim's head for protection. He slid Tim onto the bike before sliding onto the bike behind him and revving it up.

Jason was able to control the bike with one arm while supporting Tim from behind with the other. He sped off toward the Batcave, gripping Tim tightly, and unknowingly leaving Nightwing to deal with the massive gang of thugs on his own.


	6. Chapter 6

Nightwing hit the ground like a sack of fodder when he had finally been incapacitated by Gavrilo's men. It had taken over thirty fighters to do it, but all the strength and fight of the young warrior had, at long last, gone out of him. Gavrilo looked down at his captive, a blank expression on his face, but secretly impressed and apprehensive about how difficult capturing this lone, injured hero had been. He hoped the hero was not as skilled at evading questioning, but had faith in his country's ancient and proven techniques.

"Medic," he summoned, in his mother tongue.

"Medic," responded one of his loyal soldiers, sliding out of formation holstering his pistol and sheathing his knife.

"Assess our captive," ordered Gavrilo.

Warily, the medic obeyed. He crouched down, uncertainly, next to Nightwing, half-expecting to be attacked. To the medic's immense relief, the captive was as incapacitated as he looked. "There's damage, sir," he reported. "Of head and body, but he seems strong enough for questioning. I recommend moving him now, before he wakes."

"Good," said Gavrilo. "Escort our guest to the chamber. Time is of the essence. We must get as much out of him as we can before he's missed and that other bat whelp is able to give up our location."

Nightwing was gathered up and dragged by two soldiers to the same chamber from which he had just helped Red Robin escape. A thick trail of his blood glistened on the floor in their wake.

* * *

Provoked by a sharp, incessant pounding in his head, Dick slowly regained consciousness. Climbing the slippery slope back to awareness, he peeled his eyelids open the tiniest amount and winced into the dim artificial light that permeated the large chamber and assaulted his ocular nerves. He quickly shut his eyes again against the offending light. He smelled the dank mustiness of the old building, the metal and gun grease from his captors, and blood. His own blood, he realized.

 _What in the hell…_

He concentrated on the images he had been able to make out before he had closed his eyes again and took stock of own body and the odd way in which is was positioned. His hands were bound and shackled to a chain that pulled them high above his head which proved horribly discourteous because his right arm was ablaze with pain. _Broken,_ his numb mind supplied to him. It hurt like hell and the chains were worsening the fracture. His chin sagged low and rested against his chest. He could not feel the comforting weight of his beloved escrima sticks holstered in their customary location. The utility belt at his waist, his gauntlets, his communication devices- he'd somehow misplaced all of them. He was relieved to discover that he was still wearing his boots, but his right leg throbbed where he had been shot earlier and the wound was slowly weeping blood. The pounding in his head was almost unbearable.

 _Where am I? Who am I fighting? How long have I been like this? How can I escape? Where are my escrima sticks? Where are my gauntlets? Where's my belt and my comms?_

A hundred questions filled his thoughts and threatened to overwhelm him, but his training as a partner to the Dark Knight took over. _Think, concentrate, remember, assess._ After a few more seconds… he remembered. His stomach twisted into knots.

 _Tim! Oh God was Tim alright? Was Jason able to get him home safely?_ He took a calming breath and continued his assessment. That was until…

 _Splash._

His captors doused him with a bucket load of icy, metallic-tasting Gotham City tap water.

 _So much for that idea,_ thought Dick ruefully.

"We know you're awake," said a brusque voice flavored with an Eastern European accent. "Open your eyes, scum."

 _Scum? How original,_ Dick thought, disappointed.

When Dick did not instantly comply, the cold water he had been doused with was replaced by a gloved backhand.

 _Thwack._

"Open. Your. Eyes," commanded the foreign criminal again, annunciating each word more angrily this time. The accent sounded so very familiar. Grudgingly, Dick opened his eyes behind his mask and looked up to meet those of his captors. They were the same men that had been trying to torture Tim for information about Bruce. And the leader… Dick had seen security footage still-shots of him in Bruce's recently opened case files.

"Gavrilo is it?" he said plainly through squinted eyes. "Thank you for the refreshment, sir. I was feeling quite parched until you so kindly provided me with some."

 _Thwack._

A soldier had delivered another punch to Dick, this time to his exposed chest and this time harder. Dick lost his footing slightly, and groaned as he swayed and his broken arm bore more weight via the chains by which he was bound. He was able to recover his composure, however.

"What, no chair?" he complained brashly. "The last guy got a chair, where's mine?"

Anger flashed in Gavrilo's eyes at the hero's apparent lack of fear or solemnity.

"Your smugness will not serve you here," began the crime boss from his seat. "You act like you are not hurt or afraid, but I can smell your fear."

"Hmm, nope," said Dick thoughtfully. "That would be my aftershave. It's nice right? I know this guy likes it," he turned his head to the side and winked at one of the men standing next to him. In anger, the man lashed out at him and punched him in the mouth.

 _Mmph_ , Dick grunted in pain. This wasn't going well, they hadn't even asked him any questions yet.

"Dude, come on, not the face," he ground out painfully, flashing the man a bloody smile. "I want to look good for our date later."

The man roared out in fury again and kicked the insolent captive in the gut. Dick's breath and next saucy remark was forced out of him and he doubled over in pain, causing more strain on his broken arm and left him reeling, breathless and dizzy with agony. As he hung there, gasping for breath, Gavrilo cut in.

"Enough!" he bellowed, finally showing a semblance of the amount of emotion due a villain when their captive refused to cooperate. "We have little time and so will you if you do not obey. I'm going to ask you a series of questions and you are going to answer them fully and to the best of your knowledge."

"Okay," said Dick still breathless and swaying painfully in his chains. "Just -nnn- warning you," he caught his breath and spit out a wad of blood. "I'm a -nnn- talker."

"We shall see," said Gavrilo as his soldiers moved in around Dick to begin the interrogation, in the expert manner that they knew.

Nightwing's questioning began with simple queries.

"What name do you go by?"

"Nigthwing. But I also answer to 'A Smaller-Quicker-Better-Looking Version of Batman' and 'The Amazingly Charming Nightwing.'"

Gavrilo's rage flashed, but he continued for the sake of the information he needed. He cared little and less about this inconvenient urchin of a hero. He had specific information requested from his employer and he would do whatever it would to get the answers. Including stomaching the brat's aggravating verboseness.

"Who is the Batman?" said Gavrilo.

"Aw dammit!" exclaimed Dick. "I thought you guys knew! That's what I was going to ask!"

He got punched in his bullet wound for that. It hurt. A lot.

"Where is the location of the Batman's home base?"

"Excellent question," began Dick sounding intrigued. "It's somewhere in or around either the Northern or Southern Hemisphere. I think."

His broken arm was manipulated cruelly for that, and he cried out a terrible shout of pain. He tried to lash out with one of his legs, but it was easily caught and tugged on, causing his arm to take even more weight.

Gavrilo rubbed his temple in impatience. "I see that are usual methods are not very effective tonight." He glanced down at Nightwing and then summoned more soldiers. "But we have other ways. And I will get from you what I need, one way or another."

As Nightwing composed himself from the bout of agony from the affront to his broken arm, he noticed more men filing into the room. One of them was holding a long, sharp, curved blade.

Dick took an educated guess about what was coming to him next.

 _Ok, Grayson, think. What would Bats do?_


	7. Chapter 7

Red Hood had been unable to contact Alfred at any point during his ride back to the Cave. In the midst of the raging storm, comms were still proving scant.

Nevertheless, Jason raced Red Robin back to the Cave safely where Alfred had diagnosed the younger hero with a concussion, probable broken nose, and severe contusions to his chest and face. Remarkably, all of his x-rays were negative, but the hero needed rest. Jason carried the still-sedated Tim up to his room, cleaned him up, dried him off, dressed him in warm clothes and tucked him into bed. He then stood by in case Tim needed anything when he woke up.

As Jason watched over Tim, he helped himself to a cigarette, and lit the end of it with one of Tim's bunsen burners. Beakers were plentiful amidst the conglomeration of lab equipment on the younger hero's desk, so Jason plucked an empty one from a rack and used it as an ash tray.

After a few minutes and a few cigarettes, Jason was relieved to see that Tim was beginning to stir.

* * *

Tim Drake awoke with start, his heart pounding, his head aching and his body stiff and sore.

"Dick!" he shouted out before he could stop himself. _Oh God... Dick!_

Instantly, the tall, muscular form of Jason Todd was at his side, still in his black body suit and customary black boots. His hair was still wet from being out in the storm and plastered to his forehead. He placed a large soothing hand on Tim's chest and attempted to ease Tim back down onto his bed.

"Whoa there, Baby Bird. I've had my suspicions, but there are more subtle ways of coming out," he said in his gruff, deep voice, attempting to joke to keep Tim at ease.

But Tim began to panic and fight against his brother's care.

Alarmed, Jason took a knee by Tim's bedside. "Tim, I was only kidding! How are you feeling? What can you remember about tonight?"

Jason could not believe how absolutely horrified Tim looked. He'd never seen his little brother so upset.

"Nightwing!" said Tim clutching Jason by the shoulders and looking pleadingly into his older brother's concerned blue-green eyes.

Jason scoffed. "Hey now, that's no way to thank me for saving your ass from splatting on the pavement."

"No," pleaded Tim, sounding and looking very much like the adolescent that he was. "Jay, listen to me. Nightwing- Dick- he's still out there. He's the one who got me out. He got to the old Bank building before you did, saved me from the gang I was spying on. He sacrificed himself to get me out of there."

Tim was shaking as realization was dawning on Jason.

"Hang on a second," said Jason pensively, his expression sobering. He pulled the a communicator out of his pocket and paged Dick.

"Hood to 'Wing, you there?" nothing. Not even static.

He tried again.

"Red Hood to Gyspy Queen, comms check," he said more urgently.

There was nothing again, no static, no signal, no cheerful acknowledgment, no snarky greeting.

He stood up and walked over to the intercom system and buzzed Alfred.

"Alfred," he said urgently.

"Yes, Master Jason?" answered the butler pleasantly. "Is Master Tim awake?"

"He is," confirmed Jason. "But Alfred, has Dick checked in at all tonight?"

"Excellent news, does he need anything?" said Alfred. "And as for Master Dick, no he has not. I have not heard from him since he left Bludhaven for Gotham earlier this evening."

"Fuck," said Jason looking at Tim, who was now pulling himself out of bed and stumbling around the room looking for shoes.

"What is it Master Jason?"

"Alfred, Dick's in trouble. Tim and I are headed _down_."

"I shall meet you down there," said the butler. "In the mean time, I'll try to contact him."

Jason turned back to Tim. "Tell me everything," he said.

Jason helped Tim finish dressing and began asking what exactly had happened. As Tim recounted every major detail, the two made their way down to the Cave and Jason prepared to go back out into the storm.

* * *

"So then," recounted Tim from a seat in the Batcave as the Red Hood was swiftly loading his magazines and gathering supplies and Alfred was scanning for Nightwing's tracking device. "'Wing shoved me over to the window and threw a charge. He didn't do it until he saw you coming, Jay, but as he cleared me from the building, he launched himself toward the enemy. And he was already hurt."

"He's such a reckless shit," scoffed Jason loading the a mag into one of his beloved Glock 22s, listening to the sweet music of metal on metal as the magazine clicked into place. He donned his gloves and his brown leather jacket, which were still soaked with rain water.

"I know," said Tim sadly. "But he did it to save me." Tim put his head in his hands.

Alfred strode up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now now, Master Timothy, Master Dick did what he thought was best. We all know he can be too reckless for his own good, but he's experienced and quite clever at times. Master Jason will find him."

"Yeah," added Jason, "I'm not into all his flips and twirls or the antiquated sense of morality that he suckled from Bruce, but he's quick and he can take a punch."

"But can he take a bullet?" lamented Tim. "He was shot in the leg. He used his own body to shield me. I was... I was too slow."

Alfred and Jason exchanged a worried look.

"You weren't too slow, you were injured, Master Tim. And I know firsthand that Master Dick can take a bullet. Unfortunately, I've seen that you all can," said Alfred encouragingly as he turned to acknowledge a signal and depressed a pulsing light on the cave's main computer console. "And in any case, Master Jason will have help retrieving Nightwing."

Jason and Tim looked up hopefully.

 _Please tell me Arsenal is in town,_ thought Jason to himself, craving an outing with one of the only hero's he tended to see eye-to-eye with.

"It seems that Master Bruce's business concluded earlier this evening and he is on his way to the Cave now," said Alfred cooly.

Jason's expression turned to ice.

"I don't need the help of the big bad bat to rescue my own damned brother," he said with venom. "If anything, with all his self-righteous bullshit, he'll just get in my way!"

"Prove it," said a a deep voice from next to where the Bat Mobile was parked.

Jason and Tim looked up, startled, to see the Dark Knight standing next to the door of of his signature vehicle.

"Fine," spat Jason. "I'll show you how to properly deal with these assholes. 'Wing's as good as home."

Batman said nothing but activated the Batmobile and opened the doors with the press of a button on his gauntlet. He then situated himself behind the wheel and waited for his sons to join him, as he knew they would.

"I'm coming too," said Tim, knowing he wouldn't be cleared for combat but took a seat in the back anyway.

"We'll be back soon, Alfred," said Jason donning his red mask. "And we'll have Big Bird in tow."

Batman nodded curtly in agreement to the butler before the Batmobile took off, tires squealing, heading at max speed in the direction of Old Gotham.


	8. Chapter 8

Meanwhile, at the old Bank of Gotham office building.

The largest gangster Dick had yet to encounter this night was approaching the chained hero with a long, sharp curved blade. It's edges winked in the dim lighting of the atrium.

"Well _someone_ hasn't been missing any meals," said Dick eyeing this new foe defiantly. He then gazed up in the direction of the man who was in charge of it all. At least he thought it was the right direction, but it was hard to tell through his blurred vision. "By the way, how did you guys get all this cool stuff through customs? Were Vlotavan officials snoozing on the job when you left?"

Anger and disbelief slithered across Gavrilo's face. Had the hero deduced who he was and who he was working for? Impossible.

The massive knife-wielding thug glanced up at his master, who in turn gave him a sinister nod in permission to proceed. With a flash of steel, the man brought the blade down into the meat of Nightwing's left shoulder.

"Ugh!"

Dick yelled out as the blade pierced the front of his shoulder and was ripped out roughly. He panted in pain as the man grinned and stepped away.

When Dick found his voice again, he realized that it was starting go get hoarse.

"You know," he began, grunting in pain, "I am sensing some hostility here, guys. Was it something I said?" His shoulder began to ooze blood down the front of his black uniform, darkening his blue Nightwing emblem like the moon eclipses the sun.

"No," said the large man, stepping closer to to him again. "It's all the things you've yet to say." He brought the knife down again but this time into Nightwing's exposed flank, cruelly twisting the blade before he yanked it free.

Dick cried out again, panting in pain so violently that he was unable to produce another sassy remark. He could do nothing but hang there in agony and wait for the inferno of pain to dissipate. His right arm had gone numb, and he was starting to feel very tired…

"At last, I think we have begun to understand each other," said Gavrilo in calm tones, enjoying the display in front of him and the notion that the inconvenient hero was starting to break.

The interrogation recommenced.

* * *

Batman and Red Hood sat in silence as the civilian-clad Tim Drake divulged everything he could remember about the men he encountered. His brilliant mind remembered all the details about their accents, their weaponry, their tactics and their endeavors.

Batman nodded in solemn acknowledgment to all of this information, pleased that his youngest ward was able to provide so much despite his concussion.

Red Hood growled in impatience. "Whoever these fucks are, they're going to pay."

"It's Gavrilo and the Black Hand," said Batman ignoring Jason's ominous remark. "He's an illegitimate son of the former King of Vlotava and half brother to the criminal meta-human known as Count Vertigo."

"Ohhh," said Tim in revelation. "The Black Hand! They probably stylize themselves as such in homage to the Serbian terrorist group who assassinated the Archduke of Hungary Francis Ferdinand in 1914 and catalyzed World War One."

Jason nodded his head in agreement remembering his history. "So that's why this creepy fuck calls himself Gavrilo? Don't tell me he changed his last name to Princip… What the hell does he want?"

"He wants…" Hundreds of ideas raced through Tim's head, despite his headache. "I'll bet he wants to sabotage the royal line of Vlotava and take control of the nation," said Tim pensively. "But he would need outside help from another more powerful criminal faction. My guess is that he's trying to get information about Bats from 'Wing so he can use it to pay for the assassination of the Queen and probably his deranged brother too."

"Who you calling deranged..." mumbled Jason smirking and stroking his Glock.

"Jason enough. You're not deranged. And put that away. We talked about his, your guns are your last resort and-

"- not to be used for fatalities," Jason finished, deepening his voice in an impression of Batman's. "I know, Bats. I promise I'll be a good little Hood for you. I haven't even tried to slit Baby Bird's throat in weeks. Ain't that right Timmy?" He craned his head around to grimace at his younger brother.

Batman narrowed his eyes, frustrated that Jason could joke about such things already but surmised that his jokes were a small price to pay for his reform.

"Weeks," agreed Tim sardonically. "Anyway," he continued, changing the subject. "I think we should take caution with Gavrilo. If he's half brother to Count Vertigo, there is a 66% chance that he inherited the ribosome that produces the meta-human gene and a 45.5% chance that the ribonucleic acid provided from –

Jason cut in impatiently. "We get it Baby Bird, he might be a meta-human. Sweet. I'll try to keep that in mind as I'm ripping his meta-arms out of their meta-sockets."

"Right," said Tim. "He's not the average criminal. So maybe I should-

"You're staying put," said Bruce. He had known that Tim was building up to insist he be allowed to join him and Jason to rescue Dick. "You're hurt and you're dressed as a civilian. Jason and I need you to stay here. I have a specific job for you and I need you to monitor our comms relay from the Bank building, to the Batmobile, to Alfred at the Cave. It's a comms failure that got Dick into this mess to begin with. We're going to ensure it does not happen again."

Jason's stomach dropped and he felt a twinge of guilt. "Bats… I…" he began.

"You did the right thing, Jason," said Bruce approvingly to Jason's surprise. "You got Tim home to the cave safely. Dick is the far better choice to endure interrogation. He has more experience."

"More experience, _and_ he's way better at diversionary tactics," said Tim, trying desperately to justify the fact that he wasn't being the one tortured but that Dick probably was.

"You mean he's more annoying," said Jason holstering his Glock and checking over the knives stashed in his boot.

"Perhaps," Batman admitted solemnly before announcing. "We're here."

The stealthy Batmobile rounded the corner a block away from the bank building and Batman parked it far enough away incase the Black Hand had lookouts to the street below. The storm would help to distort visibility, but Batman didn't want to take any chances.

"Tim," ordered Batman checking the status of the cloaking devices. "Come up in the front and do not leave the vehicle. I don't want your identity or your presence here compromised if any members of the Black Hand are looking for you."

Tim nodded and climbed gingerly onto the center console. Bruce turned to Jason.

"Ready?" asked the Bat.

"Fucking right," said the Red Hood.

Tim watched the pair disappear into the rain and storm, running in the direction of where the Black Hand was holding and most likely torturing his oldest brother. Although Red Hood wore a brown leather jacket in place of a cape, he couldn't help notice the similarities in the way they moved.


	9. Chapter 9

"Batman to Batmobile," said the Dark Knight into his ear piece. "Comms check."

"Loud and clear," said Tim. "How me?"

"Loud and clear," responded the Bat. "Do you have comms with the Cave?"

"Affirmative. Batmobile to Red Hood, comms check," said Tim to establish comms with Jason.

"Loud and clear, Baby Bird," said Jason who, for once, did not seem to have a cigarette in his mouth. "How me?"

"Read you the same," said Tim, surprised. Could it be that, in his haste to rescue Dick, Jason Todd had forgotten about his nicotine addiction? "Standing by for instruction," he added.

The Dark Knight and the Red Hood breached a building adjacent to the bank building and grappled their way to the roof. Within minutes they were entering the target building through a hole in the decrepit rooftop and silently making their way down to the atrium that Tim had described.

So far, they had not been met with any resistance, which could be a very bad sign. For one horrifying moment, Batman considered the fact that the faction may have kidnapped Dick or simply left him dead and deserted the building. But the distinct sounds of an interrogation echoed up through the upper floors where he and Jason were covertly descending.

Suddenly, a shout of pain erupted in a voice that sounded like Nightwing. Batman exchanged an ominous look with Red Hood.

While Jason was momentarily shaken by the sound that he knew to be Dick in agony, the look from Bruce told him wordlessly what he needed to hear. "Stay focused. Stay collected. We are going to get him out of this." Jason nodded back in return and followed the Bat deeper and deeper into the building toward the chamber.

Another minute went by and Batman and Red Hood were perched silently on an exposed beam a few floors above where Dick was being held. Dick was chained up in the center of the atrium. The man Tim described as Gavrilo was asking questions, and each time Dick 'answered,' the soliders provided a means of trying to torture a true answer out of the vigilante. Nightwing was bruised, bleeding, swaying from his chains, and overall looked ready to pass out.

"Batman to Batmobile," whispered Bruce. "Eyes on Nightwing."

"Roger. Loading rocket launcher."

Batman signaled and upraised fist to 'hold position' followed by the signal to 'watch.' Red Hood growled with impatience but repeated the signal back in compliance.

They continued to listen and assess the situation, waiting for the moment to spring into action.

Gavrilo's voice echoed up through the derelict building.

"Are you sure you have nothing to tell us about the Batman?" sneered the man. "Nothing at all?"

Dick spat out another wad of blood and grunted in pain. "He…" Dick was tired and it was difficult for him to stay awake let alone speak. "He enjoys… long… walks on … the beach... sunsets… -NNGH!"

Before he could finish, a soldier kicked him in the ribs, sending him swinging by his bound arms.

From his vantage point high above the wretched scene, the Red Hood felt his blood boiling. Batman saw red but resolved to wait longer for a better chance. He could feel the anger radiating from Jason too.

The voice of Gavrilo carried upward again.

"So you will die before divulging anything about the Bat, that is plain. A shame, seeing as you are so young. But believe me, I will not weep," said Gavrilo with all sincerity.

Dick grinned saucily and tried to lift his head in Gavrilo's direction. "Tired... of my... stimulating conversation... already?" His head sagged.

"I will give you one more chance to redeem your insolence before your life is forfeit," continued Gavrilo ignoring the jibe. "Tell us the secret of the Red Hood's resurrection and reform."

Jason's stomach flipped and twisted and his breath caught in his throat. _Why the hell_ did they want to know about _him? What_ would Dick say?

Dick was out of energy, out of time and out of quips. His body ached everywhere and he simply wanted to close his eyes and sink into oblivion. But he couldn't do that. He could not and would not forfeit his own life so easily, and leave Bruce and Jason and Tim and Alfred to divvy up his responsibilities.

"You… you want… to know about the Red Hood?" Dick wheezed painfully.

"We do," said Gavrilo eagerly awaiting what the dying vigilante had to say about the antihero.

Nightwing mumbled something inaudibly and Jason held his breath, listening intently.

"What was that now?" asked Gavrilo on the verge of signaling for another brutal beating to be dealt to the hero chained before him.

"I said," began Nightwing, steadying himself, his voice growing in volume. "That's... my brother... Screw you!"

Jason's heart leapt in his chest. After all the claims from Bruce and Tim and Alfred and Dick that he did still matter and still was important to them, he was afraid to believe them. Afraid after all he had been through that their soothing words of comfort and welcome were just that- merely words. But here Dick was on the verge of being beaten to death and still refusing to give up any information that would harm him or Bruce. He knew Dick loved Bruce, so if he held Jason in the same esteem, perhaps it meant that Dick loved Jason still as much as he claimed. Jason Todd, the dead Robin, the deranged psychopath, the renegade, the outlaw and now the reformed hero was still… _loved._ His heart soared underneath the red bat symbol that was emblazoned on his chest.

But Jason's moment of recognition and joy were interrupted by the sound of chains being rattled, fists connecting with flesh and Dick's roars of anguish. He snapped his head up in Batman's direction, urging him for the signal to leap into action, pleading for the opportunity to punish the men who were tormenting his brother.

"Wait, dammit" Batman seemed to have signaled to the restless Red Hood. Then he keyed his earpiece and gave the command, "Red Robin, how much longer?"

"Ready to fire," said Tim.

"Fire," ordered the Dark Knight.

"Roger," said the voice of Tim in reply.

Seconds later a whistling of a projectile and the noise of it colliding and exploding into the adjacent abandoned building could be heard amongst the sound of a man being beaten and an angry mob boss cursing.

Upon hearing the explosion, the men in the atrium below shuddered nervously and ducked for cover.

Gavrilo's head snapped up in the direction of attack and he decided that they were finished here tonight.

"Move out!" he screamed, as another round was fired into the neighboring building and thunder boomed in the sky outside. His men were afraid and confused and the once well-organized scene turned chaotic.

"Now!" signaled Batman to Red Hood and in the blink of an eye Jason was gone. Down he went to the floor of the atrium, picking his way through several of the villains and making his way to where Dick was hung chained and unmoving.

Batman, went straight for the boss. For good measure, he peppered several charges and smoke bombs around the room to confuse and scare the foes even more. It was working.

Red Hood snapped the arms and legs of the men who got in his way, but he denied the temptation to whip out his guns and open fire on the entire room. He now how a clear view of Nightwing.

 _Oh fuck,_ did he look bad _._

Nightwing hung limply in the chains that held him upright, bleeding heavily and blinking rapidly into the discord around him. He tried to bring his legs up to his hands to pry a lock picking tool from his boot, despite feeling weak and dizzy. He was barely able to get his boots more than a few inches off the ground, but stubbornly kept trying.

 _Don't even try it, Big Bird,_ thought Jason still pounding his way through the many soldiers and inching ever closer to his injured brother. He left a trail of twenty beaten and bloodied men as he made his way to Dick.

Not wanting Dick to somehow find the strength to pick the lock and fall on his head, Jason whipped out a pistol and took expert aim at the link right above Dick's hands. _Bang_ went the gun and a moment later Dick fell feet first into a heap on the floor with a grunt.

As Nightwing struggled to gain his footing, a plume of smoke erupted around him and a pair of gloved hands were reaching for him...

Unsure of what was happening, and on the brink of unconsciousness, he lashed out with his last remaining strength. But the gloved hand easily caught his strike, while the other hand was holstering a gun. The glove was so familiar…

And then Jason Todd's red mask was peering down at him. Was this a trick? He thrashed again.

"'Wing! Stop! It's me!" cried the Red Hood trying to calm his brother down and assess him.

"Hood?" said Dick his vision growing hazy and his knees buckling under him. Jason swiftly picked the lock that held Dick's arms shackled together. As soon as the steel band was released, his arms fell limply to his sides and Dick groaned in relief.

"The one and only," said Jason bluntly. Then Nightwing's entired body went limp and crashing to the ground. "'Wing!" Red Hood screamed going to his brother's side immediately. "'Wing stay with me. 'Wing!"

All Dick could do was grunt and nod. His world had morphed into nothing but smoke and agony and fatigue.

"We're gonna get you outta here. I promise." Jason gathered Dick up, somehow got him standing and steered him over toward a stairwell. "Come on 'Wing, you gotta help me out a little. God dammit, your so much heavier than you look."

"Mmm," groaned Nightwing in pain.

"This is Red Hood, I've got Nightwing but he's down," said Jason into his comm, as he edged farther away from the chaos and closer to the exit.

"Say again," said the scared voice of Tim.

"He's down, Red," repeated Jason solemnly. "I have him and we're making our way —

 _Slash!_

Jason's communication with Tim was interrupted when he felt a knife slice through his leather jacket and graze across the muscles of his back.

Through the smoke and confusion, none other than the crime boss himself had rounded up on Jason and Dick and slashed at Jason. Jason staggered and almost dropped Dick.

He drew his pistol and turned to see where the assault had come from, but didn't see anyone there. Jason squinted suspiciously and then looked nervously back to Dick who seemed fully out of it by now. But his attention was redirected to the foe when he was slashed at again from behind.

 _Slash._

Jason grunted in pain, but kept scanning with his pistol raised high. Still he saw no one. Was his attacker a fucking ghost?

Having a hard time seeing me?" taunted a the disembodied voice of Gavrilo.

 _Slash._

A knife stabbed into his arm causing him to drop his weapon, but he still could not get a good look at the son of a bitch who had dared slash at him.

His blood started to boil again. He was on the verge of setting his brother down and beginning a rampage. He could see it now, him drawing all his guns and knives and taking sweet vengeance on every man in this room for harming Tim and torturing Dick. He could taste their blood spraying on his face and could hear their screams mingled with his laughter. His trigger fingers twitched, and his fists clenched, longing to clutch the grip of his handguns. That would be so sweet…

 _No,_ he resolved remembering who he was now and the promises he had made to his family. That wasn't him anymore. He ignored the attacker and decided to grab Dick and make a break for it. He was feet away from the staircase, when a blunt object crashed into his back, knocking him and his charge bodily to the floor.

The smoke began to clear and finally, he could see the outline of a man standing above him. A club in one and and a knife in the other.

"So close," he teased Red Hood. "But now Nightwing will be dead and I will have the Red Hood in the flesh for vivisection, to study the secrets of resurrection." He motioned to Nightwing. "His death was long and painful, but yours will be longer as we tear you organ from organ to learn how you became."

Jason grunted in pain. "I've already died once. Don't plan on doing it again any time soon."

"The choice isn't yours to make," sneered Gavrilo advancing on the pair of heroes.

Jason Todd moved himself between the approaching villain and the prone body of his older brother. He readied himself for the duel to come.

Until a dark shape plunged down from above them all and deep, horrible voice boomed through the atrium, more frightening than thunder outside.

"Get the hell away from my sons," growled the Dark Knight as he descended on Gavrilo.

The mob boss only had time for a short, pathetic scream of fear before Batman broke him down, put him to sleep and cuffed him to the wall.

Bruce dialed the number to GCPD, mumbled a few instructions and then glanced down at Jason proudly and then to Dick sadly.

"Let's go," he said helping Red Hood to his feet and positioning Nightwing between them so that they could both take his weight as they made their way down the stairs.

"Batman to Batmobile, ceasefire. We have Nightwing and need immediate extraction. Rendezvous at South East stairwell of the bank building."

"Roger," said Tim, ceasing his barrage and burning rubber to pick up his family.


	10. Chapter 10

Nightwing sagged in Batman and Red Hood's grip, but still tried valiantly to get his feet under himself and help with the process.

"That's it, son," encouraged the Dark Knight. "Just a little further. Batmobile's curbside. We just gotta get you down the stairs to the street and then you can rest." When Nightwing didn't respond, Bruce looked down at his oldest son. To his dismay, he saw multiple stab wounds, a gun shot wound, and what looked like a broken arm. It was also obvious that Dick was severely concussed. "You still with us, Nightwing? Nightwing!"

"Mmm," Dick groaned, pain lancing through him with each downward step. "Mmm, yep."

Jason Todd was uncommonly worried. This might have been the first time ever that he was in Dick's company and not begging him to shut the fuck up. He subconciously grasped his injured brother more tightly, but when he did, he jarred Dick's broken arm. Dick cried out a terrible shout of pain.

"Shit!" said Jason, clutching on to Dick's shoulder instead as the broken arm fell limply again to Dick's side. "My bad," he said sounding slightly apologetic.

"S'okay," mumbled Dick. "Just a knock."

"It's not okay," interjected Bruce. "It's broken, badly. Try to hold it still as best as you can, son."

"Oke doke," he slurred again. "Bats, m'fine, don't... worry 'bout me." he insisted. "I can... walk."

"Negative," said Bruce solemnly as Jason barked out a mirthless laugh.

"Big Bird, you can't even stand," said Jason rolling his eyes.

"Stand schmand," slurred Nightwing. "Where... where we... going?"

"Home," said the Bat. "We're all going home."

"K," answered Dick sluggishly, his head sagging a little lower to the ground. Then all of the sudden he stiffened all the way and his eyes flew open. "Red…" he said quietly at first. Then his voice grew in volume as he began to struggle against Bruce's and Jason's hold. "Oh God! Where's Red? Hood did you… is he?"

"He's fine," soothed Bruce, as the two men recaptured the agitated hero. "He's in the car, you'll see him momentarily."

"And he's… OK?" Dick asked. "They… the Black Hand… they tortured him."

"He's fine Big Bird," insisted Jason. "Cuts and bruises. Not much more. He's waiting for you in the car. Now, for fuck's sake, relax."

Nightwing exhaled a sigh of relief and relaxed between the two men once again. The surge of adrenaline that had accompanied his concern for Tim was dissipating and left him feeling even more exhausted and injured than he had before.

* * *

It seemed like it had been hours since Tim had parked the Batmobile and waited for Bruce and his brothers to exit the old building. In reality it had been only a few minutes before the stairwell door banged open, thanks to a violent kick from Jason's boot, and the three men appeared. Two of them were holding the injured one between them. Tim gasped when he saw what Gavrilo and his men had done to Dick.

Tim activated the vehicle's hydraulic doors and paged the Batcave.

"Red Robin to Cave," he said as the doors hissed open to allow the three men to get into the car. "Nightwing's alive… but he's down. Batman and Hood are bringing him to the car now.

Tim slid over into the passenger seat as Jason and Bruce got Dick situated in the back seat. They laid him down gently and Bruce strapped a harness over him. Jason did a hood slide across the Batmobile and entered through the other side of the back seat. He sat down, placed Dick's head in his lap, pulled his red hood off, and wrenched open one of the many first aid kits that were stored in the vehicle. He began to tend to some of Dick's freely flowing wounds and placed his arm tenderly in a black sling. Dick, cried out in agony when Jason manipulated his arm into the sling, but made little to no response to Jason's other ministrations.

Meanwhile, Bruce had slid himself behind the wheel, sealed all doors and sped full throttle toward the Bat Cave. "Alfred," he said paging the butler. "We're on our way."

"Excellent news, sir" said the butler. "Shall I page Dr. Thompkins?"

"Yes," came a chorus of three urgent voices while a slurred "Nahhhhhhh," could be heard from the man laying in the back seat.

"I shall call her at once," said the butler. "We will be ready for him," he promised before signing off.

Bruce glanced in the rear view mirror at his two eldest sons. "Awfully quiet back there," he remarked. "Dick, you still with us, son?"

"Yyyyyep," slurred Dick. "Baby Bird?" he asked, making sure that Tim was indeed in the car and alright.

"Right here, Dick," assured Tim. "I'm alright, thanks to you."

"His pupils are huge," said Jason peeling off Nightwing's domino mask. "I never thought I'd _ever_ be saying this, but we gotta keep him talking."

Dick tried a snort of laughter but groaned out in pain instead.

Tim turned around in his seat. "How was is in there, Dick?"

"Good," slurred Dick. "Made… lots… new friends."

Jason scoffed in annoyance but found himself reaching down to stroke some of Dick's soaking wet hair from his forehead. Dick's deep blue eyes were blinking slowly, trying their hardest to ward off sleep.

He met Jason's eyes and locked onto them. "Thanks Jaybird," he managed to whisper.

"I'm not a bird," said Jason out of habit, continuing to smooth Dick's hair out of his face. He then mopped up some more blood that had began to appear from the lacerations there.

"Are too," said Dick sleepily still trying to stay awake.

"No he's not," came an oddly stern voice from the front passenger's seat.

Jason flinched at the comment and the tone. _Damn._ Just as he thought he was starting to fit in again...

But Tim had more to explain.

"Jay, you've grown. You're tall and strongly built like Bruce," began the youngest. "You hit just as hard as he does and you… you even _move_ like he does. Jay, you're not a _bird_ in the sense that Dick is and that I try to be. You're a _bat."_

Despite himself, Jason felt a swell of pride. It even swelled a little bit more when he saw the Batman's pointed ears nod in silent agreement. The corner of his mouth twitched into a half smile. He didn't know what to say. So he said "I need a drink." Then he looked down again at Dick.

Dick was somehow still fighting against sleep and staring up at Jason through his long black eyelashes.

"Quit staring, Dickhead" he teased frowning down at Dick's dreamy and pain-filled expression. "I know my hair looks dumb."

A moment of awkward silence passed in the Batmobile as Jason made a reference to the white streak in his hair which, to the discomfort of everyone else, he liked to claim he had received 'from his tenure as a ghost.' He smirked at the awkwardness, pleased that despite all the good he done of late, he was still capable of ruining a nice moment.

"I like it," declared Dick on the brink of sleep. "Now people… can… tell us apart."

"Ha!" Jason said humorlessly. "No one gets _you_ and _me_ confused Dickiebird. People get _you_ confused with _Tim._ People tend to get _me_ confused with something they've seen in their darkest nightmares."

"Nope," declared Dick his eyes finally closing. "You're… chip off the old Bat block. Just like... the rest... of us." He let out a deep sigh and his tense muscles went limp in Jason's grasp.

Alarmed, Jason lightly shook Dick and tried to elicit a response. "Hey," he said gently. "Hey, Dick are you with us? Dick?" Nothing he did got a response.

"Bats, he's out cold," Jason reported to the Caped Crusader. "How far are we?"

"Ten minutes out," said the Bat, mentally willing the Batmobile faster.

Nine minutes later, the Batmobile came to a screeching halt in the Batcave. Awash in the glare of the headlights, Alfred and Leslie made their way urgently over to the vehicle to help remove and tend to the ailing hero in the back seat.


	11. Chapter 11

Jason practiaclly ripped his own harness off and then gently lifted Dick's head from his lap and set it gingerly down on the carseat before bolting over to the other side of the car. He tore the door open and extracted his unconscious older brother from the vehicle. Bruce jogged over to assist him, but Jason solemnly insisted "I've got him."

Bruce backed off, but remained at arms length to help if for some reason Dick slipped from Jason's grasp. But Tim had said it true during their journey home: Jason was incredibly strong and growing stronger every day. Bruce felt a twinge of pride.

"Oh Jesus!" exclaimed Leslie glancing at Jason and the injured hero in his arms.

"I actually go by 'Jason'. But we do have a similar backstory." Jason smirked at his own gruesome joke. "Where to, Doc?"

"This table right here," she said gesturing to a table that had been prepared for Dick's arrival. Alfred stood waiting to answer her every command. With the greatest care, Jason deposited Dick onto the bed and backed away slowly as Alfred and Leslie went to work, removing his bloodied and torn uniform and assessing his vitals.

He was watching with sad, tired eyes when Bruce appeared next to him and gripped his shoulder gently.

"You're trembling," said Bruce with concern.

"Am I?" said Jason genuinely surprised. "I thought that was Big Bird."

"No," said Bruce, almost tenderly. "Come. Sit down. Let me get a good look at you."

Tearing his eyes away from Dick, Jason suddenly realized how tired he was and that there was some pain in his back and on one of arms. He looked down at his right arm and numbly noticed that there was blood oozing from a large wound there. Reluctantly he turned away from Dick and his caretakers and followed Bruce.

When Jason removed his beloved leather jacket, he noticed the large slash in the back of it. "God dammit," he muttered placing the jacket on bench along with his shoulder holsters and his hip holsters. After he had stowed every last bullet, blade and bomblet, he made his way over to a chair near the triage area, where Bruce was waiting for him with iodine, stitching, gauze and a few syringes.

"Sit," commanded Bruce. As Jason did so, he allowed Bruce to help him remove the top of his black body suit. His broad, muscled back was slashed deeply from right shoulder blade to lower left back. Bruce hissed in astonishment.

"You could have said something," chided Bruce, tugging on a pair of latex gloves and cleaning the wound.

"I didn't know," said Jason shrugging unapologetically. It was true. All of his focus had been on Dick and getting him to safety.

Within a few minutes of cleaning the wound, Jason felt the bite of syringe on his skin.

His pride slighted. "I don't need lidocaine, Bruce," he growled. "I've been through worse."

"I know you have," said Bruce unmoved, continuing to inject more of the numbing agent into different areas of the wound. "But we have it. I'm using it."

Jason rolled his eyes, but allowed Bruce to continue with the lidocaine injections all the same.

"Yikes," said Tim appearing from behind with three bottles of water and glancing at Jason's back. "When did that happen, Jay?"

Jason took the offered bottle of water gratefully and decided against asking for a bottle of whiskey instead. "Oh I don't know," he said peevishly between swigs. "Sometime between you plummeting out of high rise, Dick telling his captors that the Dark Knight enjoys long walks on the beach, and Bruce telling me that I'm too big of a pussy to endure the _agonies_ of a few superficial sutures without the help of lidocaine."

Bruce frowned but Tim gasped ecstatically when he realized what Jason had said about Dick and his captors. "He didn't!" said Tim lost in stiff laughter. "He did _not_ tell them that!"

"Oh he did," confirmed Bruce, failing to hide a smile as he remembered. "Sunsets too." He placed the last few sutures in Jason's back then walked over to the other side of the chair to inspect Jason's forearm.

"Yep. That's our Dickhead. _Such_ a way with words," said Jason surrendering his arm to Bruce.

Tim was still laughing, and couldn't wait to hear what else Dick had said to the men who were trying to beat important information out of him.

Bruce finished the last of the sutures on Jason's forearm, then added a few more to a small cut on his face.

"How did this happen if you were wearing the hood," asked Bruce stitching the wound under Jason's eye.

"It cracked a little during the brawl. I must have caught and edge," explained Jason.

"Hmm," said Bruce frowning.

"Oh what? It's not like anyone's gonna notice if I get a few more scars on my mug, Bruce," said Jason sounding almost a little sad. "My face is already fucked up."

Bruce paused a moment, his light blue eyes boring into Jason's. "Now that, Jason Todd, is the most preposterous thing you've ever said."

"Yeah," piped Tim. "Come on Jay, you know your handsome."

"All I see when I look in the mirror is scars," said Jason blandly. "Even my hair is scarred."

"Well that's not what we see," said Bruce. "I see a young man, wise beyond his years, who could probably have any woman that he wanted."

Jason was honestly shocked by the compliment, and felt his cheeks redden.

"Yeah, any!" agreed Tim. "Well if he didn't have such a hard head that is. And always reek of cigarette smoke."

Jason gave his little brother a playful kick to the thigh, knowing it might be one of the few places that the younger hero wasn't hurting. "You better watch yourself, Baby Bird," he said in sarcastic admonishment. "I know where you sleep, you little punk."

Bruce smiled down at his two wards. It seemed that they were finally, at long last, becoming the family he knew that they were destined to be.

* * *

A little while later, when Bruce had finished patching him up, Jason watched as Bruce gave Tim a quick follow up exam. He was sad to see Tim's two black eyes, and plentiful contusions and cuts, but overall agreed with Alfred's diagnosis.

"Any spare shirts down here, Bruce?" asked Jason standing up from the chair where Bruce had tended his wounds. He now sported some forty-odd sutures and large white gauze across his back and tightly around his arm. "I refuse to prance around the cave half-naked like _some people,"_ he added, referencing Dick's affinity for working out shirtless.

"Top drawer," said Bruce calling over his shoulder and gesturing toward a tall stainless steel tool chest. Bruce had already engrossed himself in one of his many mechanical projects while he waited for Dick's prognosis.

Jason pulled one of Bruce's black fitted cotton t-shirts gently over his head and back, carefully avoiding his freshly stitched wounds. He was astounded to see that it was only slightly too large on him. Maybe all those morning weight lifting sessions with Bruce were more than just helping him channel his anger. Maybe he was getting stronger and would one day be as strong or stronger than his adoptive father. He made a secret promise to himself to match Bruce's squat max within the next few weeks. Then match his other maxes too...

Jason the made his way back over to where Alfred and Leslie were still working on their patient. Dick was finally properly sedated by now, on an IV, and all of his vitals were being monitored. The man really had taken a terrible beating this night, and it was all for the sake of keeping Bruce's identity a secret... and keeping Jason's private life a secret. He realized that he respected Dick more than he could ever let the cocky son of a bitch know.

He eased his tired body down into a chair next to Tim, and glanced over at his younger brother. Tim wasn't looking so good either. The night's events had a taken a massive toll on the hero. He held himself stiffly and was squinting into the bright light of the medical triage area.

"Lay down, Timmy," said Jason patting his lap. "You look terrible. I'll wake you up if there's any change in his condition."

Tim nodded tiredly and wordlessly leaned over to rest his head on Jason's lap. He was asleep within seconds. Jason ran his calloused fingers through Tim's short black hair that he liked to keep cropped tightly on the sides and a little less so on the top. He watched Tim's bruised chest rise and fall peacefully for a while before turning his attention back to Dick.

Also exhausted from the events of the night, Jason's tired mind began wandering off. He found himself engrossed in a memory from the week before.


	12. Chapter 12

One week earlier at Wayne Manor.

The Wayne Foundation was hosting a gala at Gotham City Convention Center, and Bruce had insisted to Dick and Jason, that if they came to Gotham to attend, it would be well worth their while. As usual, much of the Gotham elite had ties to illegal activities in Gotham, Blüdhaven and Otisburg and it would be a good opportunity for the bat clan to subtly and sociably collect information. In addition, Alfred thought it might be a good opportunity for him to bond with his boys, and they with him and hopefully each other.

Damien was away at school in the Himalayas, so Tim Drake was the only of Bruce's sons actually living at the manor these days. Dick had taken up residence in Blüdhaven and Jason… had 'residences' all over. Dick was doing a phenomenal job as Blüdhaven's prime protector, but had insisted that he was getting help from the Red Hood. In addition, Bruce's three boys had done an incredible job of protecting Gotham as he seemed to be getting called away for a lot of off-world missions with the JLA lately. Tim was busy with school, but had done his fair share of good detective work and crime fighting too.

Jason entered the sitting room of Wayne Manor to find Bruce dressed immaculacy in designer three-piece suit and bowtie, sitting in an antique winged-back armchair, scrolling through Wayne Tech emails on his smartphone. Idly, Jason wondered how much he could get if he pawned just one scrap of the fabric that Bruce was wearing. Tim Drake sat on the couch in front of the television, listlessly watching Jeopardy. The sixteen-year-old was also dressed nicely and was quietly supplying the correct answers to all of the questions before the host even had an opportunity to finish asking. Tim Drake watching any sort of trivia show was like Dick Grayson watching Olympic gymnastics- it bored them both to tears and they just didn't see where the challenge of it all was.

"Good of you to join us," said Bruce locking his smartphone, pocketing the gadget and turning to face Jason. "You clean up nicely."

Tim looked up at Jason too, an odd expression on his face.

"Oh I live for your approval Bruce," said Jason sarcastically. "Especially when it comes to the way I dress. Sorry, I'm late I got held up… hang on… where's Dickface?"

"He's around," said Bruce calmly as Tim shuddered slightly and swallowed a grimace.

"Oh don't tell me… I know. He's either A: blow-drying his hair, B: whitening his teeth, or C: skyping that Star-Gazer babe," said Jason annoyed, reaching into the pocket of his dinner jacket for a cigarette.

Tim sniggered, a little too violently as Bruce gave Jason a searching look.

Jason had the lighter inches from his face when a stern voice with a British accent called out "Not in the house, Master Jason! We have a terrace for that," from several rooms away.

Jason jumped. "Jesus Christ!" he said lowering the lighter, annoyed. "How the hell does he always know!" he demanded. "And what the hell's the matter with you, Timmy? You look like your having some sort of fit over there."

Tim could hold it in no longer, laughter erupted from his mouth as a dark, lithe shape descended on the unsuspecting Jason from the top of a book case.

"Oh what the!-" was all Jason had time to say before Dick pounced on him from on high, knocking him to the floor.

"Nice to see you too, little brother!" said Dick cheerfully through gritted teeth as the two men wrestled on the marble floor.

"You little shit!" sneered Jason trying to pin the elder.

Bruce watched with calm amusement as Tim doubled over in fits of laughter. The two brothers were still wrestling violently until Dick pulled away and back flipped out of the grasp of the younger and landed lightly on the coffee table out of reach.

"Get back here, you slippery fuck!" demanded Jason as the butler appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat loudly.

"Master Dick, that is _mahogany_ ," he said as a means of telling Dick to either get down, or flip onto a less expensive piece of furniture.

"Sorry, Alfred," said Dick doing a double gainer with a half twist and landing lightly on the area rug.

Jason rolled his eyes. "You're such a flamboyant shit."

Alfred tapped his watch meaningfully. "Master Bruce, I do believe you have a time-table."

"You're right Alfred, we do." He turned to his sons. "Men, straighten yourselves up. We leave in five."

Bruce got up, smoothed the wrinkles in his pants and went to the garage with Alfred to to bring the limousine around front.

Tim walked over to Jason and stole a hug before he could be denied. Reluctantly, Jason awkwardly patted top of Tim's head twice before pulling away and walking out into the foyer and checking himself in the ornate mirror. To his great annoyance, Dick was already there, straightening his tie and fixing his hair.

"Move over, pretty pretty princess," said Jason peering into the mirror.

Dick gave a theatrical bow and motioned for Jason to join him.

"I actually tried to look nice tonight, you know," spat Jason. "Do you know how long it takes me to conceal this?" He pointed angrily to his lock of snow white hair, that had been knocked loose from where it was concealed amongst the thick tangle of black. "You fucked it up."

"I got you," said Dick turning to face his brother and licking his thumb and forefinger. He reached up and deftly styled Jason's hair tastefully. The white lock disappeared.

Jason snorted but was happy with the result. "Shoulda known you'd know. Now what do I do about these?" He motioned to the bags underneath his eyes and the scars on his cheeks.

"Nothing," said Dick confidently. "It's part of your look. But if the white hair bothers you so much, you could always dye it."

"Tried," said Jason bluntly. "It won't hold a color. And plus, I like it. It reminds me not to die. Again."

Dick frowned. "Well, if you like it, then why are we hiding it?"

"I don't think you should hide the white," said Tim raising his chin up at Dick so that the older brother could fix his tie. "I think it looks cool."

"I do too," said Dick, tugging at Tim's bow tie. "I say let it loose, Jay."

Jason thought about that for a second. "Maybe I will… Nah, I can't stand it when people ask."

"Just kindly tell them to 'fuck off' like you always do," said Dick shrugging. "Oh and maybe, kindly remember to shave next time."

"Fuck off," said Jason. "Kindly."

Tim and Dick sniggered. Then two beeps could be heard from the horn of the limousine out front. The three bothers made their way out to it.

Jason let out a whistle of appreciation at the expensive car while Bruce popped open the door from the inside and insisted "It's for the occasion."

"All this for me, Bruce? I'm flattered," said Jason humorlessly as he climbed in and sat on the leather bench across from the man he was learning to call 'father' again.

Dick joined in on Bruce's side and Tim plopped down next to Jason.

"I know you boys know how to handle yourselves at these things, but there are some ground rules," began Bruce as Alfred drove the limo out of the motor court and through the manor's opulent gates.

"Oh, hereee we go," said Jason rolling his eyes and making a rude farting noise with his mouth.

Tim elbowed him sharply.

"Dick, no gymnastics," said Bruce solemnly and then paused.

Jason waited sullenly for the 'No swearing, no fighting and no whiskey' that was sure to be directed at him. Instead, Bruce smirked and finished off with a "That is all."

Jason's eyes widened in surprise and Tim pointed at Dick and laughed gleefully in his face.

"Hey!" complained the acrobat, looking ruffled. "It's not my fault! It just sort of … happens!"

"Just happens my ass! You do it for the chicks," said Jason reaching into his pocket for his pack of Marlboros. "And it sickens me to see that it actually works."

Dick squinted at him, watched him rummage around for a few seconds, and then smirked. "Missing something?" he said, triumphantly waving Jason's pack of cigarettes that he had pick-pocketed from him during their scuffle in the sitting room.

Jason's head snapped up in recognition then annoyance. "Why you-!"

Another brawl ensued, and the boys found themselves straightening each other up once more before entering the extravagant and crowded event.

Bruce Wayne led the way to the entrance as Jason whispered behind him to his brothers.

"Pucker up, boys," Jason said rubbing his hands together in a mockery of excitement. "Commence ass-kissing in 3-2-1-"

"-Senator!" exclaimed the cordial voice of the billionaire playboy approaching one of the Gotham elitists. "So good to see you!"

Dick and Tim hooted in derision as Jason gave them a smug look that bespoke 'Was I right or was I right?'

...

An hour or so into the evening, Bruce Wayne was schmoozing with European dignitaries as he did his best to maintain his sociable and tractable facade and his interest in their pompous minutia.

"I must say Mr. Wayne," said one of the men. "You have quite the strapping brood. What are you feeding those boys of yours?"

"Too true, Bruce, darling. They're just like their father," cooed a Duchess inching her way closer to Bruce and slipping a delicate, silken-gloved hand through his arm.

"Thank you," said Bruce taking a glass of bourbon from a passing server. "They do enjoy their... athletics." He looked over to see Tim seated at a table, with notable and esteemed scholars forty years his senior, prattling adamantly about advanced astro-physics.

Then Bruce, and the small group of men and women that he was entertaining, smiled in delight as they noticed the affable Dick Grayson, beaming from ear to ear and standing by the terrace with a woman on each arm. The young man raised his glass in 'cheers' genially to his brother sitting across the gala by the bar.

Their faces quickly fell in displeasure as they witnessed Jason Todd make a the rudest of gestures brazenly in return.

The Duchess sniffed disdainfully. "Hmph," she began pretentiously. "What was it that you said your second oldest was off doing again? We hadn't heard much about him for a while until a few months ago."

"Oh," said Bruce remembering the lie. "Research... and mercenary work... abroad..." He knocked back his glass of bourbon and smacked his lips. "Yep."

* * *

Back to the present.

Jason Todd smiled at the memory of the evening. It had actually been a productive night. He had even shared a stogie with Bruce later in the evening after he had gotten some good dirt from the daughters of a crooked businessman from Otisburg.

A groan from the man on the table in front of him, brought his mind back to reality.

He looked to see that Leslie was placing a few sutures in gash on Dick's temple. Alfred was easing the man's casted arm into a tight sling. Dick was still under, but the broken arm was so bad, that even in his state of sedation, the injury pained him greatly. Jason's heart went out to him. All those ridiculously difficult acrobatics that Dick loved to do… he definitely wouldn't be able to do any of it for a long time.

"What's the verdict?" asked Bruce, approaching the operating table. He looked worriedly down at Dick and then to Leslie as he used a chamois to wipe the axel grease from his hands.

Jason gently nudged Tim awake. Tim sat up stiffly rubbing his eyes.

"Dick sustained a severe concussion, three broken ribs and a badly fractured radial head. There's damage to the ligaments and soft tissue surrounding the bone from the trauma that he incurred after it was already broken. In addition, we dug a slug out of his left thigh and irrigated and stitched four deep stab wounds. One in the front of his left shoulder, one in each of his sides and one his right leg quad," reported Leslie solemnly.

"How bad are the stab wounds," asked Bruce looking at the bandages.

"Like I said, they're deep, but they didn't hit anything major. I'm guessing the men who did this to him weren't stabbing to kill?" asked Leslie.

"They weren't," confirmed Bruce. "They were torturing him for information about me. He didn't comply."

"I can tell he didn't by the state of him," said Leslie sighing sadly. "We've given him a sedative and medication for the pain. He's not in any mortal danger, but he should be watched."

"What his estimated recovery?" asked Bruce.

"A month and half maybe two at least. He's hurt worse even than the first time he and I met, Bruce," said Leslie. "I reckon its that arm that's going to give him the most discomfort as he tries to go back to business as usual. But everything else is going to painful too. He'll need a lot of rest over the next few days."

Bruce nodded and thanked Leslie as she gathered her things and took her leave.

Jason stood up and helped Alfred dress Dick in a t-shirt and a warm pair of sweat pants. Then Bruce and Jason moved Dick upstairs to the bed in his old room.

Tim watched sadly as Bruce and Jason situated his brother in his bed and Alfred organized the medical equipment that was monitoring Dick's vitals. When it was all said and done, Dick lay in his old bed, a bandage on his forehead covering the sutures there, bandages visible under his shirt on his left shoulder and his right arm casted from wrist to shoulder and immobilized in a sling. His broken ribs had been tightly wrapped, and his stab wounds and bullet wound had been sutured and covered. Bruce drew Dick's comforter up to his waist and had Jason elevate his leg with a few pillows. When they decided that they had made Dick as comfortable as possible in his injured state, Bruce went over and smoothed a lock of black hair out of Dick's pale face as his other son's watched gloomily.

Dick's face was clean and blood-free once more, but there was swelling from all the blows he'd taken. He had dark bruises under each eye and fat lip. His was pale and frowning while as slept, but the heart monitor at the bedside beeped a steady rhythm and boasted safe cardiovascular health.

Bruce, Alfred, Jason and Tim gazed sadly upon the sight of their broken brother.

"It was supposed to be for me," said Tim quietly, his voice cracking with the dismay, a silent tear falling down his cheek. "It wasn't Nightwing they wanted. They wanted me."

"They'd have killed you," said Jason bluntly. "Stop feeling sorry, Baby Bird. He did what he knew was best."

"He'll be alright," announced Bruce confidently. "He's strong."

No one said a word, just nodded in agreement as they sat around Dick's bedside for a few minutes, watching Dick's broken chest rise and fall. When Tim nodded off then yelped in pain when he caught himself falling off his chair, Bruce decided it was time for them to get their own sleep.

"Tim," said Bruce sternly. "Get to bed, son. You need rest too."

When Tim hesitated, Jason added "Look at him, Tim. He's not going anywhere anytime soon. He'll be here when you wake up."

Tim nodded sleepily, and with one last sad glance at Dick, he took his leave of the room and padded lightly down the hallway to his own.

"Jason," said Bruce eyeing the man thoughtfully. "You did well tonight, thank you."

"Don't thank me Bruce," said Jason, slightly peeved. "I didn't do it for you. I did it for _them_." He looked to Dick. "He's really not all that bad… I guess."

Bruce smiled. "I know, but even so. I'm grateful to have you back. You fought well. And Tim and Dick are home tonight because of you. You have my deepest thanks."

"Oh now _there's_ a treasure," said Jason sardonically.

"Jason..." said Bruce sternly.

"-OK, OK." Said Jason, deciding he was growing soft. "You're welcome."

Bruce gave him a long look of gratitude and pride.

Jason felt that odd sensation of happiness again. Weird. "Ok," he said suspiciously. "Now you're just buttering me up so I'll stay a while."

"Will you?" asked Bruce. "Your old room is still yours. And Tim and Dick aren't in the best of shape, I think your company would ease their suffering. Tim looks up to you, you know that. And Dick… well, he's always loved you, Jason. I think he could really use your help recovering."

"What about Bruce Wayne though?" asked Jason. "Last time I checked, you didn't think I was Manor Material. You suddenly have change of heart?"

"No," said Bruce with a warm smile. "I think _you_ have, son."

There is was again. That warm feeling in his heart that he was still wanted that he was still loved. Jason smiled tentatively, the expression so unfamiliar to him after enduring so many months of pain and stress. "I've missed Alfred's cooking is all… but yeah, I stay."

Bruce smiled warmly and grasped his shoulder affectionately. "Thank you, son."

For once, Jason was not completely repulsed and annoyed by the gesture.

"Now get some rest," said Bruce returning his gaze back to his ailing older son. "I'll take first watch."

Jason nodded and, with one last glance at the brother who had willingly sacrificed himself to save Tim, and allowed himself to get beaten to near-death for the sake of Bruce and himself, he too took his leave.

After Bruce heard Dick's bedroom door click shut and Jason's tired, heavy footsteps disappear down the hallway, he pulled his chair as close as possible to Dick's bed.

"Well done, tonight," he said grasping Dick's free hand, squeezing it lightly. "Rest easy, son. You'll be good as new in no time."


	13. Chapter 13

The following afternoon.

Dick Grayson was trapped within the thralls of a terrible nightmare. He was out in Gotham on patrol, there was a violent thunderstorm raging above him and he was making his way into the remains of an old building. For some reason, he had been stripped of all his weapons and gear and he suddenly found himself staring down into a pit where Red Robin was shackled and being tortured.

 _No!_ He cried out, but his voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. He ran to his brother, wading through a crossfire of bullets, some of them grazing him, some of them lodging deeply into different parts of him. But he kept going. _Red!_ he wailed again as he watched a massive shape pummel Red Robin with fists and knives. But as he got closer, the form of Red Robin grew, broadened and morphed into the likeness of the Red Hood. _No!_ he yelled out again, somehow quickening his pace. He finally got close enough to Jason, but as went to undo his binds, Jason lifted his bruised and bloody face and it morphed into Batman's. "Behind you," rasped the deep voice of the Dark Knight. As Dick turned to face what Bruce warned him about, a knife was thrust deeply into his own chest. He cried out in his dream a horrible shout of pain.

"Dick…" called a voice from far away.

But he couldn't respond. His chest was ablaze with pain and it was getting difficult for him to even breathe.

"Dick, please, son…" pleaded the voice again, this time more clearly.

That was Bruce's voice, Dick realized suddenly. But Bruce was here with him… how could that be? Then all at once the dismal scene around him evaporated and melted into a blinding light and he could feel large hands gripping him tightly.

The pain remained.

He dragged his heavy eyelids open, blinked into the bright light of his own bedroom and saw Bruce's concerned face swimming in front of his own.

"Br-Bruce?" his voice was hoarse and pain lanced through his chest as he tried to speak.

"There you are, son," said Bruce letting out a long sigh of relief. "You were dreaming."

He felt a cool washcloth being placed on his head, and sweat from his forehead was sluiced and wiped away by a gentle hand.

"And, bloody hell, I daresay it was a bad one," added a familiar Brit. "He's burning up, Master Bruce."

"I know," said the concerned voice of Bruce, looking at his son. "Try to relax, Dick. You're home at the Manor, you're safe, Tim is safe and Jason is safe. We're all safe. You're _home_."

Dick hummed in acknowledgement. Damn was he so sore. His chest was ablaze with pain and his leg throbbed in agony. He looked down to see that it was elevated at the knee. And his arm… there were no words. Although it was encased expertly in a stiff cast and immobilized tightly at his side, he felt the indicatory pins-and-needles sensation of a bad fracture. But it was worse than that. It felt as though he had used it… after it was broken. Amidst the pounding of a bad headache, the events of the past evening came trickling back to him.

"What do you remember about last night, son?" asked Bruce as he checked all of Dick's bandages and sutures to ensure that none of them had been befouled by the ailing man's violent thrashing.

"The patrol… the storm… Tim… I don't know...," he wasn't quite sure about any of those statements, seeing as his head felt like it was floating. In addition, a massive headache was emerging as sleepiness dissipated. But vaguely he recalled Tim being in danger, and Jason risking his life for him. "Tim… Jay… you said they're OK?"

"They're fine," confirmed Bruce. "They're resting. Jason had a few deep cuts, and Tim has a little more than just cuts, but they're OK, son. In fact, you're the only cause of concern at present."

Dick nodded and let the good news sink in. Then he ventured an attempt to move.

"My arm," he said, feeling woozy. "Is it…"

"Broken," confirmed Bruce solemnly. "Badly. Along with three ribs. Also, you have four stab wounds. Couple stitches on your foreheard and a concussion. Alfred dug a slug out of your thigh too. A 7.62mm round. Do you remember being shot?"

Dick was working on full awareness. After a minute of muddled thoughts and he nodded slowly. "Yeah... I think so." The past 24 hours to him were quite a blur, along with the image of Bruce, Alfred and his old bedroom that were supposedly right before his eyes.

"You were tortured, son," supplied Bruce, filling in the details that he knew Dick's badly concussed brain would not be able to provide. "You extracted Tim from capture at the old Bank of Gotham office building, then Gavrilo and the Black Hand beat you to a pulp when you wouldn't give them any information about me. When Jason and I finally got to you, we had feared the worse. But you pulled through. They shot you, interrogated you, beat you and stabbed you. But you gave them nothing and you pulled though. I'm proud of you, Dick."

Dick blinked sleepily letting the words sink in. The Black Hand? Gavrilo? Those incompetent jerks from Vlotova who chained him up? It was all starting to ring a bell.

"You gave us quite a fright, Master Dick," admonished Alfred as he continued with the cool wash cloth. "But your injuries were nothing beyond Leslie's espertise and my…

"Mad medicinal skills," added Dick appraisingly in a soft voice. He was feeling so sore and exhausted but still managed a tired smile in the direction of the butler. "Thank you, Alfred."

"My pleasure, young sir. Can I get you anything? Some water, perhaps?" he asked.

Dick accidentally zoned out before he could respond, but within moments a glass of water was placed to his lips as Bruce's large, strong hand gently cupped the back of his head and lifted it up off his pillow so that he could drink. The water felt good in his swollen mouth and even better as it ran down his throat and eased the rawness that screaming had caused.

After a few seconds, the glass was removed from his swollen lips and he felt his head being lowered ever so tenderly back into the pillow. He wanted to mumble his thanks but found that his head was swimming and the light of the room was fading.

Vaguely he heard Alfred say something about morphine and Bruce say something about sleep. But he was missing a vital thread of coherence. He frowned, and then oblivion claimed him again. This time, there was sweet respite from his pains and no dreams.

Bruce watched his injured son drift off to sleep again, but this time there were no tight lines of pain, no thrashing and no cold sweats. It seemed that Dick was finally getting the rest that his body needed.

"He'll be out for another few hours, I wager," said Alfred. "I upped his dose to make him more comfortable. Go get some rest, sir. Let an old grandfather have his turn at vigil."

Bruce smiled wanly and went to get some sleep for himself.

* * *

The next time Dick woke up, it was a lot easier for him to come around. He felt floaty, oddly numb, but in much less pain that he had been earlier. For a few minutes, he merely laid there before trying to open his eyes. He was badly injured, but he felt detached and numb from the worst of this pains. _The drugs_ his tired mind supplied to him. Yeah, it was definitely the good stuff.

He could tell that it was much darker than it had been the first time he woke up meaning it was probably past sunset. His arm was encased in a rigid material and pinned to his side and he could feel the swelling of the limb within the sling, but not really the pain from the break. He felt tight bandages across his chest, his shoulder and both legs. Breathing was very uncomfortable, but he could manage it if he took careful, shallow breathes. He sensed another person in the room with him. He could smell coffee and gun grease and heard a combination of someone cleaning a weapon mingled with scream-o music blaring from within a pair of cheap headphones. He smiled and opened his eyes to find Jason, sitting in a seat by his bed, using his nightstand to clean one of his dismantled guns, brow furrowed in concentration, enthusiastically mouthing the lyrics to 'Violence (Enough is Enough)' by A Day to Remember.

"Bottom drawer," he said hoarsely to his brother, painfully outstretching his left arm to poke his brother in the shoulder.

"Jesus!" Startled by the sudden contact, Jason jumped in alarm, almost knocking his mug of coffee to the floor. Unfortunately, due to the horrors he had been through, he startled easily.

Dick frowned. "Sorry, Jay," he said clearing his raw throat, annoyed that he sounded so weak.

Jason caught the mug before it could fall and looked over to Dick. "You scared the shit outta me!" He paused the music he'd been listening too and looked concernedly in his older brother's drowsy blue eyes. "Good to see you awake finally. How's the pain level? And what's this about your bottom drawer?"

"Fine," lied Dick. "The nightstand you're using as an armory- go into the bottom drawer. There's," he grunted in pain suddenly, realizing that he had been talking to much too soon for his battered ribs. Jason looked at him worriedly and patiently waited for him to continue. "There's way better headphones than those ones you lifted from some crook. Bose. Noise-cancelling."

Jason ripped the cheap earbuds he had been using out of his ears and rummaged through the drawer Dick had described. Sure as shit, the nice headphones were there. He wrenched them free of the tangle of other chords and wires and laid them next to the pieces of the gun he had been maintaining.

"Ohh fancy," he said to Dick, appraisingly. "You always get the good shit."

"Have them," said Dick tiredly.

"Oh no, I couldn't," crooned Jason knowing full-well that he could. Dick grinned, knowing it too.

"Take them," Dick insisted. "I get them for free."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Let me guess… you dated the company CEO's daughter and, like all the chicks you date, you're- "

"-Still friends," finished Dick pleasantly. "And not the daughter. The ex-wife."

"Grayson, you dog!" said Jason pleased with the mischief that the Golden Boy could stir up. "Nice."

Dick gave a saucy grin, but then winced when he accidentally shifted his arm.

Jason noticed. "Aw fuck, you OK?" he pushed the chair as close to Dick's bed as possible. "I imagine getting the shit beat out of you hurts pretty bad."

"You would know," grimaced Dick. "I beat the shit out of you every time we spar."

"Fucker…" said Jason, darkly. "Seriously though, how do you feel, can I get you anything. Some water? Some ice? Some booze?"

Dick snorted at that last offering. "Like Jason Todd would _ever_ part with a single drop of his alcohol."

"I've turned over a new leaf, Big Bird," said Jason shrugging. "I have sleepovers at the mansion now, I rescue my brothers instead of killing them, and I share my booze. So what?"

Dick laughed, and then remembered it was Jason who had secured Tim's return to the Cave and then helped Batman extract him from the torture session.

"Thanks, Jay," he said abruptly. "For getting Tim home and for getting me out of there. I owe you."

"I accept cash and cigarettes as payment," said Jason. "Not low-tar though."

As Dick smiled tiredly, he was surprised to see Jason's features change into those of all seriousness. His brow furrowed again and he cocked his head as he looked into Dick's glassy blue eyes.

"You..." he sounded unsure. "You didn't tell them about me." He stated blandly.

Dick was unsure if that was a statement or a question. He merely blinked slowly in incomprehension.

Jason frowned, thinking he would do better to wait until Dick was more coherent, but decided to proceed anyway. There would be no harm in thanking his older brother twice after all, and plus he needed to discuss the matter in case some feud with Bruce drove him from the Manor again. Which is where Dick was sure to be convalescing until further notice.

"Those assholes who beat up Timmy and tortured you," he began again. "They asked you about Bruce and you gave them nothing. And then... they asked you about the Red Hood too. And you refused to give them anything still. Why?"

Dick was on the verge of dozing off again until he realized what Jason was asking him. "We're allies," he said. "Family, brothers, Jason. I'd die before I gave up anything that would harm my family.

"And it was a near thing, Dick," he said, touched. "Thank you."

"All in a days work, Jay," said Dick flashing Jason a smile that would melt any girls heart.

"Ugh, don't look at me like that, it doesn't work on me. Plus it makes me ill." said Jason lightly. "Save it for the reporters and blushing maidens, Big Bird."

"Can't help it, Jay," said Dick chuckling a little bit before it pained him too much to do so. When he groaned Jason looked up in worry.

"Want more morphine?" asked Jason.

"No thanks, the room is foggy enough already.

"Your loss. I'm stocking up on it, so if you wouldn't mind telling Alfred you need some more..."

"Won't work," said Dick tiredly. "He always gives it to me intravenously. He never trusts I'll actually take it."

"Damn," said Jason snapping his fingers in disappointment. "Well, want me to tell Timmy you're up? He's in his room working on some science bullshit or another, but he's been creeping on you all day."

Dick nodded sleepily.

"Tim!" called Jason leaning back in his chair and directing his voice toward the hallway. "The Chosen One awakens!"

A moment later, rushing footsteps could be heard without and the form of Tim Drake went whizzing by the open doorway, his socks sliding on the immaculately polished hardwood flooring of the long second level hallway.

"Nice," commented Jason dryly.

When Tim was able to come to a stop, he ran the rest of the way back to Dick's doorway and came bursting into the room, a pair of lab goggles on his forehead, beaming with joy at Dick's long-awaited consciousness.

"Dick!" he cried with glee as he came bounding up to the injured man's bedside. He leaned down gave his oldest brother the gentlest of hugs. "How you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine, Tim, just fine," replied Dick trying to conceal a grunt of pain.

"He's lying through his perfect teeth," scoffed Jason.

"I know, just thought I'd ask anyway," said Tim. "But at least you're awake! I thought Gavrilo and his thugs worked _me_ over, Dick. But I guess they saved all their energy for you."

"You guys, OK?" asked Dick, his swollen brow furrowing in concern. "Tim, hows the head? The chest?"

"Good," declared Tim. "Broken nose, slight concussion, some bruises. You should see Jay's back though. Looks like the Grand Canyon."

Dick frowned deeply as Jason insisted he was fine. Dick was even more upset when he learned that the Dark Knight had sutured the wounds. "Ugh his are always so uneven," sad Dick. "You should have let me do it."

"I asked you to," said Jason sarcastically. "But you had a tube down your throat and a woman elbow-deep in your innards. And anyway, Bruce insisted."

"It's not to bad though, yeah?" asked Dick hopefully.

"Not bad at all," confirmed Jason. "Superficial."

The three sat in content silence for a moment.

The youngest then turned to Jason abruptly. "Why was there cigarette ash in one of my beakers?" he sad accusingly.

"Dunno, Bill Nye," Jason answered lazily, reaching up and grabbing ahold of Tim's goggles and letting them snap back onto the younger man's forehead. "How's Bruce able to kiss so much ass at galas? Why's the Red Hood so motherfucking bad ass? Why's Dickiebird a prancing jackanapes? Some mysteries are just not meant to be solved. Even by you, Timmy."

Jason's smart ass retort had Tim laughing and forgetting all about the offending ash he had found in his beaker and on his desk.

Dick had zoned out and was too tired to reply to slight or to laugh at it. Both of his brothers had noticed.

"You should rest, some more Dick," said Tim. "I'll stay here with you for a while. It's my turn to keep you company and prevent your escape... lest I face the wrath of Dr. Pennyworth."

"K," slurred the oldest.

"Sweet," said Jason, steadily gaining his feet. His back still ached from where he'd been slashed and clubbed during Dick's rescue, but he didn't dare show it. Especially when Dick was so much more injured than he was. He gathered up his supplies and his new headphones and walked toward the door. "I'll be in the Cave. Hitting or shooting at something," he added blandly as he stomped off with heavy, brisk strides.

"Where's my... goodbye kiss?" pouted Dick slyly from his bed, using the last of his fading consciousness to annoy his brother.

Jason wordlessly flicked Dick off from as he continued his exit. He strode across the threshold and heard a "Love you, too!" and some sniggering from Tim as he slammed the heavy wooden bedroom door.

Sutures and aching back aside, Jason needed some exercise. And a cigarette. But mostly exercise.

On his way down to the Cave, however, he was passed by Alfred.

"Pip pip cheerio," said Jason as a means of greeting, emulating Alfred's posh English accent. "I daresay that chap Big Bird has graced us with his responsiveness again."

"Oh excellent!" said the butler. "I shall alert Master Bruce! Oh and Master Jason, your accent is improving. I almost mistook you for Her Majesty the Queen herself," he added dryly. "How's Master Dick feeling?"

Jason shrugged. "His coherence will be short lived, he barely knows his name by the look of him."

The butler nodded in understanding before giving Jason a suspicious, searching look. "Going somewhere, Master Jason?" he said with an eyebrow quirked. "Not going downstairs for heavy exercise are we?"

"Oh... I... " Jason was a man grown but still quailed under the sharp gaze of the butler. "Fine." He decided. "I'll keep it light."

"Most wise," said Alfred.

* * *

TBC.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Dear, friends. I'm sorry to say that this is last chapter. Thanks for all your support I had tons of fun writing this fic and I loved reading your comments. To my fellow batclan-loving homies, please let me know if anything seems out of place or could be done better. I'm very open to critique! ;]**

* * *

A few nights later at the manor.

Dick's injuries had improved greatly and, with the help of Jason and Bruce, he was able to get around the mansion without too much discomfort. It would still be weeks before he would be unsheathing his escrima sticks and fighting crime, but he was able to last longer and longer before pain and fatigue (and Alfred) demanded that he return to bed or laid down on a couch.

Dick and his brothers had just finished eating supper, courtesy of Alfred's incredible culinary prowess, and were making their way down to the Bat Cave, where Bruce was waiting for them. Bruce, as usual, had elected to take his supper in front of his computer. But his sons, enjoyed their time together in the kitchen, eating informally at the kitchen's large, granite-topped island.

Tim was clearing the table as Jason helped Dick stiffly to his feet and helped him don his sweatshirt. His bullet wound and stab wounds were healing nicely, but his broken ribs and immobilized arm still troubled him greatly.

"Mmnph, Dick groaned as Jason helped him to him stand. "This would be so much easier if Bruce would hang trapeze or rings in every room like I suggested."

Jason rolled his eyes. "News flash, Big Bird," he said disdainfully, but gentle with assistance all the same. "None of your limbs are working properly and there's nothing rings or trapeze would do to remedy that. So quit your whinging and stop complaining, before I drop you on your ass."

Sadly, Dick knew that was true. "It would still be sweet though wouldn't it?" he asked fantasizing about the prospect of gym equipment at every turn.

"Not even a little," said Jason.

"Jay would prefer guns and targets," said Tim falling in beside them as the three made their way to the lift down to the Cave. "And pictures of motorcycles."

"Sure why not?" said Jason, griping Dick tightly and helping his older brother down the short flight of steps to the den. "But why have pictures when you can have the real thing, I ask?"

"Nooo," groaned Dick, remorsefully. "Can we please not talk about bikes? I can't ride for another two weeks. And Bats is holding my Ducati hostage."

"Oops, sorry sorry," said Tim hastily. "Let's talk about pommel horses instead." He shared a wry grin with Jason.

"NooOooo," whined Dick again. "You guys are being so savage tonight."

The three stepped into the lift. It sped swiftly downward toward where the Dark Knight was waiting for them.

"I can walk on my own for a while, I think Jay," said Dick. "I'm feeling alright tonight."

Jason scowled at the comment. He knew that Dick was going to try to look heathy in front of Bats and try to wheedle his way onto patrol. "Goddamn, you're heavy," said Jason to Dick, ignoring the statement entirely. "Must be all that shit you're full of."

"Worth a shot?" asked Dick.

"Nope," said Jason and Tim in unison.

The lift came to a halt and the hydraulic doors hissed open.

The three made their way to the computer console and Jason gently deposited Dick in a chair and joined Red Robin in prepping for a night out on the town.

Jason would make his way to Blüdhaven tonight to 'check in' on some of Nightwing's usuals while Tim would be joining the Dark Knight for a night patrolling Gotham. Nightwing was still direly out of commission.

After about ten minutes, Jason and Tim rejoined Dick as the Red Hood and Red Robin, and Batman finally looked up from his screen and acknowledged their presence in cave with him.

"Men," he began in the gruff, terse voice of the Cape Crusader. "Before we go out tonight- Dick sighed sadly but Bruce ignored it- I want to share with you some final pieces that Red Robin and I were able to put together regarding Gavrilo and the Black Hand."

Immediately, each of Batman's sons gave their undivided attention to the display screen. Batman opened file entitled 'Black Hand' and began scrolling through pictures.

"As you all know the terrorist group naming themselves 'The Black Hand' lured Red Robin to a remote location and tried to torture him for information about me. When Nightwing showed, allowed himself to be captured, and freed Red Robin, the group shifted their attention to him and resumed the torturing regiment that they were planning to use on the latter."

"Although with more zeal, I bet," Jason cut in. "I can't imagine they were too pleased to be met with ranting bullshit in place of stoic silence."

Dick grinned. "It's all part of my charm, little bro."

"And," said the Dark Knight, refusing to be interrupted, "it worked. Thanks to Nightwing's evasive comments _and_ Red Robin's silence, the Black Hand was unable to achieve their goal."

"No shit, Bats," said Jason impatiently. "But how did they know Red would show? Why did they target him?"

Batman narrowed his eyes. "If you could shut your mouth longer than five seconds, Jason, I am getting to that."

The Red Hood folded his arms as his brothers sniggered, but he fell silent all the same. And listened.

"Red Robin was able to dig very deeply into the history and formation of the Black Hand and their leader. Perhaps it's best if he tells you about what he discovered."

Batman slid his chair over and let Red Robin take the reigns. Impressed, Dick and Jason watched as their genius younger brother shared photos and information he had collected and connected.

The youngest cleared his throat. "Bats and I had a hunch that Gavrilo was planning to usurp his family's power in Vlotova and take control of the kingdom. But he needed outside help from more powerful factions. He made a deal with a the international crime syndacite we've all heard of, The Light, and they agreed that if Gavrilo could get them information about one of their most formidable enemies, they would assassinate his niece and help him win a coup."

"But why would the Light deal with a lowly crimnal like Gavrilo?" asked Dick, stroking his uncommonly stubbly jawline. "What made the Light so sure that he would be able to get anything about Bats that they didn't already know? Unless..."

"Didn't you guys notice anything strange about Gavrilo's tactics? How neither I nor Dick was able to see that the building he occupied was crawling with his cronies? My lenses didn't even pick up that there was a thug right behind the window I breached."

"Yeah," said Jason pensively. "And when I was trying to get Big Bird to the stairwell, that fucker vanished! He was attacking me and taunting me, but I couldn't even see the bastard. It was like fighting a ghost. I guess he evaded you too, Bats?"

Batman nodded.

"He's a meta-human," said Tim. "Like his half-brother, Count Vertigo, he possesses the ability to utilize low-level telepathy. Only instead of being able to give his victims the sensation of vertigo he-

-"He cloaks himself. And people," interjected Jason.

"And objects," added Dick.

"Exactly," said Tim. "He can make things invisible to his victim. But he can only victimize on or two people at a time."

"But why didn't Bats know about him?" asked Dick. "Bats has had the registry for years. Amanda Waller gave it to him so he could help Superman and Wonder Woman form JLA."

"He's not registered," said Tim simply. "He was born a bastard son of the King of Vlotova. His royal blood, although only half, was a threat to the royal line. He was exiled at a young age, raised in America and lived his entire life as a refugee, nursing grievances and eager to return to Vlotova and claim his rights."

"What's with the army of assholes then?" said Jason. "Did you see the way his soldiers hung on his every word? They treated him like a God. How'd a exile bastard of a poor country come by them?"

"When he came of age, he returned to Vlotova and exposed and paraded his meta-human ability to his countrymen who were most desperate for glory, eager for riches, and most disheartened by the Vlotovan royal family. They were easy to sway and control. And it's not the first time in history a megalomaniac with a certain prowess has been able to acquire a fanatical following," explained Tim.

"Still doesn't explain why they targeted you, Baby Bird," said Jason.

"It's common knowledge that Red Robin is my current partner," interjected Batman. "And it's no secret what a skilled and diligent detective he is. The Vlotovan rebels spent weeks getting themselves arrested to draw my attention, assuming that I would dispatch Red Robin on a recon mission to find out more about them. They waited for a night in which the Batman had not been seen on the streets for a few nights, and decided to broadcast a lot of chatter and make it obvious that they were having a meeting in a remote location. Then they sat back and waited for Red Robin to come."

"Yep," said Red. "Gavrilo knew as soon as I was a mile out, and was using his meta-human ability on me from the start. I didn't even know what I was walking into."

"None of you knew," said the Bat. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Silence filled the Cave for a few moments.

"It's alright, boss," said Dick. "We prevailed."

"You did," said the Dark Knight. "Gavrilo, the Black Hand and their allies all underestimated Batman and Red Robin's strong ties with Nightwing and Red Hood. I don't think they knew Red Robin would have brothers allied to and watching over him while I was away."

"Bigger and stronger and more experienced brothers," said Tim happily. "Joke was on them. Gavrilo was able to capture me, but in the end all he got was 90% of his men in cuffs and incarceration at Belle Reve. The Black Hand has since disbanded following his arrest. He lost."

"He did," agreed Bruce. "Well done to you all. Way to stick together on this."

The three younger heroes all looked at each other astonished. Did the Batman just _praise_ them? Collectively? Wow.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Now if you've all finished gloating, I suggest you get your head right for tonight. Red Robin you're with me. Red Hood, good luck. Rendezvous with us at the Cave around 0300 if you can. I'm sure Nightwing will want to know how his city is doing in light of his-

"Laziness," finished Dick. "Bruce, I swear, I'm fine. I can run with Red Hood tonight."

Jason let out a bark of mirthless laughter as he made his way over to his bike. "You can't run with Red Hood _any night_ ," he said tauntingly, sliding his red helmet on his face. "I'll check on you in the morning, though Big Bird. I'll let you know how your thugs are doing after I help you pee standing up."

"You're staying in tonight, Dick," said Batman. "You're not even half healed."

"Yeah, Okay," said Dick mischievously. "I'm staying in."

"And in case you're thinking that you'll somehow stand up and walk over to the armory on your own steam, dress as Nightwing, and gear up, you're mistaken," said the Bat. "All your Nightwing gear is on lockdown."

 _Damn_ thought Dick but instead said "That's fine. I'll go out as Red Hood. It'll be easy, all I have to do cuss, chain smoke and shoot at everything." He flashed Jason his most loving smile.

"Try it. Go on," said Jason icily, caressing one of the pistols holsters at his side. "You're so full of holes right now that even Timmy wouldn't notice if I peppered you with a few rounds and gave you a few more."

"That's actually not far from the truth, Dick," said Tim. "Please please please just rest tonight. I can't get that image of you bleeding out in the back of the Bat Mobile out of my head. Come on, Jay can handle it."

Dick huffed a tired sigh of concession. He was after all, feeling very tired at the moment. "Alright alright." He turned to Jason. "The watch is yours, Jay. Take good care of her for me."

"Stop frowning, Big Bird, you'll get wrinkles on that pretty face of yours. I got this," assured the Red Hood.

With that, Jason gave an overly dramatic salute to Batman and Red Robin. Batman nodded in return and the Red Hood went speeding out of the Cave.

Dick looked pleadingly from where he sat in his chair, longingly watching Bats and Red give their gear one last inspection before heading over to the Batmobile.

"Godspeed," called Dick, clutching at his sides and easing himself out of the chair. "I'll just... you know... stay here... and do nothing... by my lonesome self..."

Batman said nothing but Red Robin at least flashed him an apologetic smile. "Alfred's here!" called Tim over the roar of the Batmobiles engines. The car sped off and the two heroes disappeared into the night.

"Oh yay," said Dick dryly to himself, wondering where Alfred was and how long he had to sneak himself out of the mansion before the butler came looking for him to drag him off to bed.

"I hope that wasn't sarcasm that these old ear detected, Master Dick," said the butler from next to the computer console that Dick was leaning heavily against.

Dick jumped at the newcomer and the action hurt his aching body.

"Oh!" he sputtered. "Alfred? When did you ..." he was lost in a wave of fatigue and pain from his dozen healing wounds.

The butler's look turned from gentle admonishment to worry. "Come now, Master Dick. I think that was enough excitement for one night." He grabbed dick around the waist and placed the man's unbroken arm around his own aging shoulders. "Let's get you upstairs and to bed. I lit a fire in your hearth, just the way you liked it when you were an unruly child."

Dick smiled at the notion. A warm fire did sound so good right now, it almost took the sting away from being left behind. His old bed also sounded good too. And sleep. "The unruly child grew into an unruly man, I think," said Dick, allowing Alfred to guide him over to the lift.

"Indeed, he did, Master Dick," agreed the butler. "The unruliness grew too."

Dick smiled to himself as he thought about whether or not Alfred meant it.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Alfred had helped Dick wash up and change and was helping the injured man into bed. Alfred gave each of Dick's wounds an exam, and changed the dressing on a few of them. There still could be nothing done for the poor man's arm, which for about the next five weeks, would still remain fractured.

"You're doing well, Master Dick," said Alfred, mostly pleased with the result of his exam. "You'll be 100% before you know it."

"Yeah," said Dick. "Thanks to you, Alfred."

Alfred smiled, and turned to stoke the logs in the hearth.

Dick was already almost dozing by the time Alfred had the fire blazing again, but he still enjoyed the heat and the flicker and the smell of the flames.

"Alfred," he asked sleepily. "They'll be Ok tonight, won't they? You know, while I'm here... languishing in my old bed."

Alfred stored the fire place poker on the hook on the side of the fire place and made his way back to Dick's bedside.

"As much good as you do, Master Dick, I daresay they will be," said the butler taking a seat in the chair next to Dick's bed. "Your place tonight is here. With this tired old man."

Dick laughed softly. "Oh yeah? What does this tired old man need from this ailing younger one?"

"I, Master Dick," he began solemnly, "need you on your feet again and healthy. There are no words for what it does to me every time I see one of my boys so... beat up."

Dick felt a sharp pang of guilt.

"Oh don't feel bad, Master Dick, I've long since learned what consoles me in situations like this."

"What's that?" asked Dick eagerly.

"Knowing that every time one of my boys is knocked down, he comes back even stronger than before," said the butler. "I don't know how this thing is possible, but that is what happens. Can you do that for me, Dick? Can you rest and heal and come back stronger?"

Dick reached his left arm out and Alfred caught his hand in his own.

"I promise," swore Dick. "I will be come back even stronger." He gave Alfred's hand a squeeze of confidence before drifting silently off into an exhausted sleep.

"I know," said the butler to deaf ears, still holding the hand of the sleeping man. "I know. Sleep well, Richard."

The End.


End file.
